


Crazy Rich Purebloods

by anne_ammons



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adaptation, And a whole lot of Malfoys, Cormac is still an ass, Ensemble Cast, F/M, Fish out of Water, Inspired by Novel, It's a Dramione story, Pureblood Culture (Harry Potter), Pureblood Society (Harry Potter), With a side of Nott Pott
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-18
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:15:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 117,158
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23708989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anne_ammons/pseuds/anne_ammons
Summary: Hermione Granger, an American-born witch, has been invited to accompany her boyfriend, Draco Malfoy, to his best friend's wedding in Britain. Little does Hermione know that Draco is one of wizarding Britain's most eligible bachelors and heir to its largest fortune.What happens to love when it gets tumbled with family expectations, society conventions, a jealous ex-girlfriend, and your boyfriend's disapproving mother?
Relationships: Cho Chang/Cormac McLaggen, Daphne Greengrass/Blaise Zabini, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy, Theodore Nott/Harry Potter
Comments: 450
Kudos: 919





	1. Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger/Narcissa Malfoy/Hermione Granger

**Author's Note:**

> While I am not always a fan of long author's notes, perhaps this story warrants a bit of one. 
> 
> This story takes two fantastic worlds and mashes them together. It is the story of Crazy Rich Asians, a fantastic book by Kevin Kwan, told in the setting and with the characters of the Wizarding world gifted to us by J.K. Rowling. No copyright infringement is meant by this work of fanfiction.
> 
> Let’s be clear — things are different about both of these worlds because this story has its own life and original characters and events. But, if you’ve read the book, Crazy Rich Asians, then I hope you can recognize the story arc. (If you’ve only seen the movie, you should see a resemblance, too, but less, because book > movie, as always, and I commend the book to your reading. 
> 
> This story features an ensemble cast. There are so many people in this story! Perhaps at some point I will give you a (partial) family tree to help keep it straight, just as Kevin Kwan did. I found myself referring back to his family tree regularly during my reading, and have kept my own version beside me as I wrote this. If you already know the story, you’ll see new people and you’ll see characters you know repurposed to fit either the underlying narratives or the specifics of the adaptation, in order to make it all come together. 
> 
> All in all, I am having a blast writing this, although it has pushed everything else to the side. I have a large chunk of it written already and expect to update regularly.
> 
> My sincere gratitude for the person who suggested it, to all of those who have encouraged it, and to NuclearNik for both the cover art and sanity checks.
> 
> Addendum: 
> 
> Now that I’ve told you what I’m excited about and why, let me talk for a moment about what I’m not doing. I’m not retelling Crazy Rich Asians, just with non-Asian characters. (Nor would I be interested in that, even if I could.) Here’s the thing, Crazy Rich Asians is a story/movie/series set largely in Singapore that deals with the dynamics of an Asian family and the world around them. In the movie, there are several iconic scenes that highlight moments that may be near and dear to many (think - the dumpling scene, for example, which wasn’t in the book). To me, those specifics have no business in a tale about a bunch of British wizards who think more of themselves than they should. I can’t and won’t transport such meaningful moments into this fic, but I think even without them, the story has its own charm. 
> 
> What interested me in transporting the frame/situations/characters of Kwan’s story to the wizarding world is the the ability to explore the trope, fish out of water, in the context of the magical world, looking not just at what happens to the fish that gets dropped in, but also what happens to the others as they interact and change (or not). That’s where I think Kwan’s tale shines, and it is this spirit of exploration that I am hoping to convey here… but with British wizarding society.
> 
> You may wonder why I am talking about this. If you don’t realize it, the movie, itself, was a big, big deal for many of us. There are so few movies or shows or books that really tell non-majority stories, and even fewer that tell them well. This was one that raised the profile of a part of the Asian-American and Asian experience. Even though I’m not Asian, I love the story for that. And as a non-white person, I get it. Our stories are our own. And, I have no interest in taking anything away from that.
> 
> Thanks for reading.

Draco and Hermione

New York

“Oh Draco, I don’t know. We would be away all summer.” Hermione pulled the top sheet around her as they lay in bed. It was a lazy Sunday morning. Neither of them had any place to be. It had been a late night and an early morning. Both of them were content to let the hours drift by.

Draco was propped up on one elbow, admiring the curves of the sheet draped over Hermione’s body as he twirled one of her wild curls in his other hand. He knew he had to let her think it through. He had just asked her to come to England with him for the summer. And if there was one thing Hermione was, she was someone who carefully planned.

He watched as she worried her bottom lip, thinking through the ramifications of even considering being away for the summer. “You aren’t teaching this summer. You already said the Transfiguration conference was going to be boring. Why not come with me?”

“But won’t you have things to do? To get ready for the wedding and whatnot? I wouldn’t want to be in the way.”

“Hermione, the wedding will only take up the first week. The rest of the summer, we could travel around the UK and Europe. I could show you some of my favorite sights.” He leaned over and kissed the freckles on her shoulder, and nuzzled his nose against her neck. “And restaurants. And maybe a library or two.”

Draco felt Hermione still and knew that his last phrase had scored some points. His witch had a thing for books. “You’ve always wanted to see wizarding Britain. If we have all summer, we can also see Paris and Madrid, maybe Milan and Zurich. Once we’re over there, we can hit all the fun spots.”

He laved at a particularly sensitive spot under her ear. “And didn’t you say you have a friend who lives in Britain?”

“Gin! Yes! She’s been bugging me to come visit for years. But…”

“But, you’ve always been too busy, which you aren't now.” He knew her thought process almost as well as he knew his own.

Hermione took a deep breath.

“And you’ll love my Grand Mère’s pastries. The bakeries here have nothing on the confections that come out of her kitchen.”

“I didn’t know your grandmother baked.”

Draco paused. “Well, she doesn’t do them herself, but really, they are wonderful. Come with me, you’ll see.” He trailed his hand down her side, slipping it under the sheets, stopping to lazily draw runes on her stomach as he watched the wheels turn in her head.

Hermione sighed. Draco knew that when she was younger, she and her mother had talked about traveling to England to see all the touristy sights. They had gone so far as to put together a list of places to see and hung it on the fridge. However, it had simply been out of reach for them. And then, when Hermione had found out she was a witch and headed off to Ilvermorny for school, all of those plans had been dashed and there was no more talk of traveling to Europe. But, he knew that it was tempting for her to visit the places she had learned so much about in her History of Magic courses. And he would so enjoy being by her side as other parts of the Wizarding world were made real.

He knew Hermione would be interested. However, she wasn’t one to just jump into something. He respected that about her, as he wasn’t either. Perhaps Hermione was wondering what might be behind his invitation. It was simple. They had been dating for two years now. This was the first time he was returning to England since they had met and he wanted to take her with him, for her to accompany him to one of his best friend’s wedding and to introduce her to his world.

She met his gaze, as if searching his grey eyes for clues, recognizing that this was important to him. And he was important to her. “Okay.” He felt his face light up. “If I’m not needed at school, I’ll go with you.”

Draco leaned down and caught her lips with his, exhaling as he did so. “Hermione, we’re going to have such a great time. I’m so glad you can come with me.” His hand wandered lower, so he could show Hermione just how happy she had just made him.

* * *

Narcissa Malfoy

London

“Narcissa, I love what you’ve done with the room. I know it’s not Wiltshire, but, it’s quite lovely in its own right.”

Narcissa ignored the overwhelming urge to roll her eyes and instead pasted on the type of smile that she knew would be expected in such circumstances. She knew whatHattie Fawley was trying to do. Once again, someone had found it necessary to point out thatshe and Lucius did not yet inhabit the family estate. Instead, they lived in a London mansion that put most ancestral homes— including the Fawley’s — to shame. However, because her mother-in-law was still living, _she_ was technically not yet Lady Malfoy and she had to endure the barbs of women whose husbands had already inherited.

“More tea, Hattie?” Narcissa smiled sweetly as she slipped a small vial from her sleeve and covertly added something to the cup before handing it to her unsuspecting guest. If you chose to insult her in her home, there would be consequences. While her last name may be Malfoy, she was born a Black, after all, and you should never cross a Black. Besides, the Malfoy vaults were also much larger than the Fawley’s. While few knew exactly how large, it was absurd for Hattie to even pretend to be in the same league. But, pureblood social circles were small, and it was the same circuit of ladies week in and week out.

“So, Hattie, are you planning on hosting the New Year’s Ball this year?” Narcissa heard Celeste Rosier ask, promptly followed by a ill-disguised snicker from her sister, Bellatrix.

To her credit, Hattie paled. “Oh… no… we wouldn’t dream of that. That is, of course your signature event, Narcissa. We look forward to it every year.”

“You mean, you neither have space for it, nor could you afford it,” her sister said matter-of-factly.

“Bella!” Narcissa reprimanded. Her older sister may not care as much for social niceties, but some level of decorum needed to be observed during tea. Narcissa looked around the room seeing a mixture of amusement and ennui on the faces of her other guests.

As if on queue, Hattie’s stomach began to rumble audibly. “Oh my. Excuse me.” She rubbed her stomach. “My stomach seems to not be very happy with me.”

Narcissa stood. “Oh dear. I’m so sorry to hear that, but I’m glad you were able to join us. You must come again sometime. Mippy?”

An elf popped into the room. “Mrs. Fawley is not feeling well. Would you please see her to the Floo Room?”

“Yes, mistress.” The elf bowed low and turned to the rapidly ailing woman. “Come, please.”

“Oh, no. I don’t mean to leave so soon.” As if in protest to her statement, her stomach grumbled once more.

Narcissa’s face held a well practiced saccharine smile, “My dear, I’m sorry as well, but I’m sure you’ll be far more comfortable at home. Perhaps Mippy should just apparate you there directly? Drop me a note and let me know how you are feeling later on?”

The elf grasped her guest’s hand and with a pop, they both were gone.

The remaining women in the room dissolved in peals of laughter.

“Oh, Cissy, that was brilliant.”

“Why did you invite her in the first place?”

“Uh, what a disaster she is.”

“Now ladies,” Narcissa reminded them, “you know the Fawleys had us for dinner last month. I stalled as long as I could, but what can you do?”

“Not subject us to her?” Her sister suggested. The other two women, being Narcissa's closest friends and co-conspirators, both chuckled.

“Why ever would I want to suffer through her on my own?” Narcissa's face finally broke into a smile, which caused her guests to start laughing again.

Her sister leaned over and whispered, “Milk thistle?”

“Of course not. Too common. Butterbur.”

Her sister smiled knowingly. “It’s good to know you haven’t completely lost your touch.”

“Well, I’m sure she’ll be recovered in time for the wedding.” Posy Parkinson offered. “When will Draco be in? Pansy is looking forward to seeing him.”

“Not long now.”

“Will he be staying in London?”

“Yes, although you know he will head out to Wiltshire at some point to spend time with his grandmother. You know how these things go.” She waved her hand dismissively as if to hide the fact that the was a bit sensitive that her son relished spending time with his grandmother more than he did with his parents. No matter, she would see him first.

“And what about his guest?” Celeste inquired.

Narcissa’s brow furrowed. “Guest? Whatever are you talking about?”

“The guest he’s bringing to the wedding.” Celeste said carefully. “Cassandra Greengrass said his response card was marked for a plus one. I thought you knew.”

“That’s ridiculous. Draco doesn’t have a girlfriend.”

Bella chuckled. “Are you sure? He's quite a catch.”

Narcissa was troubled. Exactly. Her son was the most eligible bachelor in wizarding Britain, although he wasn’t even in wizarding Britain. “But surely I would have heard something. We have plenty of friends, even in New York.”

Posy had been quiet, perhaps recalculating her own daughter’s chances with Draco based on this news. It was no secret that she had long hoped that Pansy and Draco would reconcile and one day her daughter would become a Malfoy. In fact, one could say that they had been _banking_ on it. “Maybe not, Narcissa. Maybe she’s not a Pureblood.”

Narcissa paled. “How dare you even suggest such a thing? Draco would never date someone like that.”

Bella held up her hand and casually examined her nails, “And he would never leave England. And he would always follow in his father’s footsteps. But instead, he is living in New York and pursuing a Potions mastery. Let’s face it Cissy, your son has a mind of his own. Or perhaps, he’s not thinking with his head… strictly speaking.”

* * *

Hermione Granger

Massachusetts

As was her habit on nights when she wasn’t with Draco in New York City, Hermione picked up her mobile and dialed her mother. It was still early evening in California, so it wouldn’t be too late.

Helen Granger answered right after the first ring. “Hey hun! How are the bright lights of the big city?”

It had been hard for both of them when Hermione originally left the West Coast to attend Ilvermorny. They had been so close when Hermione was growing up, as it had always been just the two of them. Nowadays, both women were thankful that technology made it easier to stay in touch.

“Mom! I have news!”

“Yes?” Helen said anxiously. It was if she had been waiting for this call, given her take on the seriousness of her daughter’s relationship. She made no point of hiding the fact that she thought Draco was a nice young man and that the two of them made a lovely couple.

“Draco invited me to go to Europe with him this summer!”

“Oh honey, that’s wonderful.” Helen replied, sounding a bit deflated. Perhaps that was not quite the news she had been hoping for, but she recovered quickly. “Tell me more.”

“Well, one of Draco’s friends is getting married, and he’s the best man. And, so I’ll be his guest at the wedding, and then after, we plan to travel around Europe.”

“Now that sounds wonderful. They won’t need you at school?”

Hermione sighed. She came by her practicality honestly — straight from her mother. “I’ve already checked and it sounds like they won’t. Since I was planning to attend that conference, they’ve already worked around me.”

“Wow. A whole summer off.”

“Yeah, I know.”

“You know, you could come see your mom. Spend some time on the beach?”

Hermione sighed, she could feel the guilt through the phone. “Or, I could go to Europe and come see you after we get back, before school starts, so I can tell you all kinds of stories about the places we visited.”

She could hear her mother grinning through the phone. “I’ll hold you to that. So, I guess you’ll be meeting his family. This sounds like a big step!”

“Mom! Don’t go there. I’m sure I’ll meet his family, but this is just a great chance to spend the summer traveling together. Don’t make it into more than it is.” Hermione neither wanted to raise her mother’s hopes nor her own. After all, while they spent most of their weekends together, and they got along famously, she and Draco had never discussed marriage.

“Hmm… just because you’re not thinking about it doesn’t mean he isn’t. You’re not getting any younger, Hermione Jean.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Mother, please.”

“And besides, you should just move in with him. You can always pop back to school when you need to, can’t you?”

“Pop? You mean Disapparate? Mom, you know it doesn’t work like that. And besides, Draco has his own work that keeps him busy. We see each other plenty. And _we’re_ fine.”

“I’m just saying,” her mother continued. “I was just reading an article the other day about how young people…”

Hermione interrupted her. Once she got going, she was hard to rein back in. “Mom, I called to tell you my news, not get a lecture. Be happy for me.”

She heard her mother sigh on the other end of the line.

“You’re right. I am happy for you, dear. Now where will you be staying in London? With his parents?”

“I assume so.”

“What neighborhood do they live in? One of the posh ones?”

“Mom! I have no idea where they live — and it wouldn’t mean much to me anyways. But, Draco’s so down to earth, I’m sure his parents are too. As long as there’s a couch for me to sleep on, I’ll be fine.”

“Right. You wouldn’t want to make the wrong impression by assuming that you are sleeping in his room. Wait to see if they offer. But, that might be a test!”

Hermione smacked her forehead with her palm. Leave it to her mother to walk straight down the garden path, worrying about all kinds of details that were not in front of her right now.

“Mom, I’m sure we’ll figure it out. Draco will know. They’re his parents, after all.”

“Hmm… only time will tell.”


	2. Draco Malfoy/Theodore Nott/The McLaggens

Draco Malfoy

New York

It was a quiet Friday night. Draco looked up from his potions text to find his girlfriend had her bottom lip tucked between her teeth. It was an expression he knew well — a subconscious action when she was thinking through something, but hadn’t yet worked it out. She was supposed to be grading essays, but instead, she was staring into the distance with a blank look on her face.

He took her in: the wild curls she had pulled into a knot on the top of her head, her bare face with just a smattering of freckles that had no need for makeup. Her fingers were ink-stained and her nail polish was chipped. She was perfectly comfortable next to him wearing one of his old t-shirts and a pair of shorts that gave him an excellent view of her legs. Hermione was so different than most of the other women he knew, and he found her to be absolutely perfect. 

The girls he had grown up with would never be caught looking less than completely put together, and their interests tended towards shopping, charity events and one-upping each other. They did nothing to capture or keep his interest, nor could they compete with her sheer brilliance. He had had enough of vapid, shallow women to last him a lifetime.

Hermione was different. She was a force of nature. He had never had the chance to get to know someone like her. While most women saw his name first and possibly nothing else, Hermione got to know him for who he was. He felt he could always be himself around her, and the strength of their relationship was a testament to that. However, something was on her mind. In fact, she had seemed more distracted as of late, worrying about the details of their summer trip.

Seeing Hermione’s concern brought to mind a talk he had recently had with his cousin, Theo. He and Theo were very close in age and in many ways had grown up more like brothers, than cousins. Even at this point in their lives, even with the distance between them, Theo remained Draco’s constant confidant.

“Are you sure that you want to do this?” Theo questioned once Draco told him of his plan to bring Hermione to the wedding. “Are you sure you want to do this to her?”

“Why wouldn’t I? We’re both free for the summer — it would be lovely to spend some time traveling.”

He could see Theo roll his eyes through the floo. “You know damn well that’s not all this is. By bringing Hermione here, you’ll be starting an international incident.”

“You’re exaggerating. And besides, she’s important to me. It’s natural to bring her to meet my family and show her the world I grew up in.”

“Perhaps in other families. But this isn’t other families, this is _your_ family, Draco, and very little of the world you grew up in is either simple or straightforward.”

Draco was quiet. He knew that some of what Theo said was correct. But, he also felt ready to take this next step with Hermione, to introduce her to his family, to his world.

“Look, I think you are a lucky bastard for having found her and clearly she’s a saint for putting up with you, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t have concerns about how it will go for you to bring her here. How much have you told her?”

“About?”

“About our family, Draco. About how things work. Do you really mean to bring her here without giving her any background? Any chance to prepare?”

“I don’t see that there’s anything to prepare for. You’ve met her, Theo. She can hold her own.”

Theo sighed. “You know I like her, but I think you are getting ready to throw her to the wolves, and you’re kidding yourself if you think otherwise.”

* * *

Theodore Nott

Paris

Paris Fashion Week. It was a time to see and be seen. Both muggle and magical events were plentiful in the City of Lights. Theo always spent the week at his flat in Paris so he could take full advantage of the parties and the associated wining and dining. He avoided the press events, but otherwise did his best to enjoy all the week had to offer. The delightful part was that given the significance of the week, the magical community swelled and he wasn’t stuck making polite conversation with the same handful of inbreds as he usually was.

The downside, however, was that in these larger gatherings, he was seen as a most desirable eligible bachelor. Most of the young women in Britain were well aware that he had no interest in them and was not seeking a contract, liaison, entanglement or otherwise. Here, though, with purebloods from every corner of the continent on parade, he had to endure the efforts of mothers who insisted on pressing him on their daughters’ behalf, each one hoping to become the next Lady Nott. After all, galleons were galleons. In this world, love - or even sexual interest - was not a prerequisite for marriage. It was all so terribly predictable and boring. And as much as Theo generally enjoyed being social, he could only take so much of the social posturing before getting lost in one too many cocktails.

This evening he found himself in a party thrown to promote Gabrielle Delacour, an up and coming designer in the fashion world (and a distant relation on his father’s side). Theo preferred to work in the background, supporting causes he believed in and helping to grow businesses where he saw potential. This was no exception. He had met Gabrielle from her earlier work at a different fashion house. A gentle nudge, an offer for funding, and now her work was headlining under her own name instead of someone else’s.

Thus far, he had held the harpies at bay by sticking close to her older sister Fleur’s side, making small talk and catching up. No one would dare approach him there, but eventually Fleur’s attention was turned elsewhere and regrettably Theo found himself without a date on his arm and nowhere to hide.

“Theodore, _cheri_ , let me introduce you to Madame Thiroux. The Thirouxs own several vineyards in the Loire Valley and have the loveliest daughter, Lisette. I seem to recall you are a wine connoisseur of some sort, yes?”

“Only in so far in that it helps me pick the right bottle to drink with dinner. Which is your label?” He turned to glance at the overly made up woman, knowing her interest in him had nothing to do with wine.

“Château des Anciens. Perhaps you’ve tried it before?”

“I have, unfortunately. It’s not my favorite. I find your Cabernet to be far too metallic for my palate. Please excuse me.” Theo broke left, hastily turning away from the two women who were now standing with their mouths hanging open in shock.

Another bullet dodged, he thought, while heading to the bar on the other side of the room to refresh his drink.

He was sure that his Aunt Narcissa would get wind of that conversation and scold him for his behavior, but she could only say or do so much — the benefit of having no parents. His mother, a Black, had died when he was rather young, and his father, the late Lord Nott, had died soon after “the unpleasantness” as the short-lived attempt at power of a rather mad wizard was known. (In these circles, you didn’t discuss the matter openly.) It all meant that Theo was in full possession of his estate and master of his activities. Aside from his personal loss, which in the case of his father had never been very personal at all, he had no one to please but himself, and it allowed him a measure of freedom that most did not enjoy.

“Fancy seeing you here, Nott.”

Theo turned to see who had spoken. It was someone he hadn’t seen much of since his school days — Harry Potter. Theo casually looked him up and down. Well fitting dress robes, nice shoes, hair fashionably mussed, and just a hint of stubble on his face. Hmm.

“Potter. It’s been a while. What brings you to Paris?”

“Oh, same as you, I would guess — the wine, the women.”

Theo couldn’t help but chuckle and Harry joined in.

“I was asked to come and show my face for a bit.”

Ah yes, Potter was a bit of celebrity after all, given his role in ending the unpleasantness. “And here is your face, without a hint of red to spoil it.”

Harry’s expression darkened. “Here, I thought we might be able to meet as friends, given we’re long past school.”

“Friends, Potter? Why would I ever want to be your friend?” Theo picked up his drink and started to move away, but Harry grabbed his arm, stopping him.

“Theo… “

“Oh, now it’s Theo? I think you forget yourself, Potter.” He had said that louder than he intended. They were starting to attract attention. That wouldn’t do. He looked down at Harry’s hand on his arm until Harry let go.

“Look, things are different now.” Harry said quietly.

“Well that’s wonderful for you. It was good catching up, Potter, but I must be going.”

Theo fled the room, hoping to find a nearby Apparition spot without having to talk to anyone else. He landed back in his flat and looked down to find a glass from the event still in his hand. He flung it at the wall.

“FUUUUUCK!”

* * *

The McLaggens

Edinburgh

Every Sunday, the McLaggens gathered for brunch. It didn’t matter what else might be going on, if you were part of the family, Sunday Brunch was mandatory. It had been that way for as long as Cornelia had been a McLaggen and neither she nor her husband saw any reason for that to change. It was a chance for everyone to gather and it gave her a chance to lay eyes on each of her children and grandchildren regularly.

Granted, Cornelia had been born a Malfoy, so she had been raised steeped in familial obligations and all of the related social niceties. And she expected her family to practice them, whether or not someone from outside their group was present. One had to be on their best behavior — properly dressed with manners on display. After all, practice made perfect.

It was the bread and butter of a pureblood wife’s life: raising your children to behave in a way that didn’t reflect negatively on your family (and cleaning up the mess when they invariably did); knowing how to host the right gathering to increase the reputation of your family and enhance your husband’s interests — be they political, business-related or otherwise; and of course the obligatory look the other way when he decided that he preferred to bed a younger piece of ass. (To be honest, she couldn’t really complain about the last part, he had never bothered to learn how to satisfy her, so not having to pretend any longer was a relief.)

The McLaggen ancestral home was overwhelmingly Scottish — a stone castle built on the edge of a bluff. While it was stately and formidable, it was also perfect for the winds to whip through, leaving a chill that even a warming charm couldn’t always take the edge off. She far preferred both the weather and locale in Wiltshire, but she had had the misfortune of being born a girl, so Malfoy Manor would never be hers nor her children’s.

That was not to say that she didn’t have resources. No, in fact, her personal vaults were larger than her husband’s family’s. As a Malfoy, one didn’t need to marry for money and didn’t get to marry for love. One married because it was the right strategic decision _for the family_. And when Cornelia’s turn came, her father had decided that shoring up the familial ties in Scotland, given its increasing importance in both the muggle and wizarding worlds was what needed to be done. So, before she was even finished at Hogwarts, she found herself betrothed to the much older Duncan McLaggen, and was married shortly thereafter.

She had done her duty — they had had two children in rapid succession and she had long ago cemented her reputation among the smaller circle of purebloods who lived in the northern part of the country. To be honest, she was happy to leave all the drama of the London social scene to her sister-in-law. While she knew all the players, her life in Scotland left her able to dip in and out as she chose, while not having to be under her mother’s thumb. And she wasn’t burdened with having to regularly play hostess to people who she really didn’t like. All in all, it wasn’t a bad life.

Cornelia surveyed the table — her husband was seated at the opposite end, newspaper in hand. On one side sat her younger son, Ewan. While she loved him, at times, she wondered if he was more trouble than he was worth. His choice in women particularly left much to be desired, but then apparently his father had been the same way before he had “settled down” with her — at least for the sake of appearances.

On the other side, her daughter-in-law sat between her children who both had their noses in books. Such was the reality of having a Ravenclaw for a mother. Cornelia couldn’t fault her, though. Cho was an excellent mother with an impeccable bloodline, and was so much easier to deal with than any one of the London girls would have been. More importantly, she wasn’t ruffled by the antics of her oldest son, who as of this moment still had not made it to the table. She wasn’t surprised. He was often late, claiming to be caught up in one deal or another.

“Children. Books, down please. It’s not polite.”

“But Grandfather…” They looked towards the man seated at the end of the table with his head buried in the paper.

“No buts, children. Just because _someone else_ doesn’t use their manners doesn’t mean that _you_ shouldn’t.” She smiled at her grandchildren, knowing that they were old enough to understand exactly what she was saying.

She turned her attention to her daughter-in-law. “So, Cho, when are you all heading to the wedding? Will you be staying the whole weekend or taking a portkey that morning?”

Her husband peered over the top of his paper, “Wedding?”

Ewan rolled his eyes. “The Greengrass - Zabini Wedding, Father. It’s only the event of the season.”

Duncan looked to his wife for confirmation.

“Yes, Duncan, we’re expected to be there. Her mother is a Shafiq and I believe her uncle was in your class at Hogwarts. And the Malfoys and the Greengrasses have been close for centuries.” That should have been enough to address his inquiry, to make clear that he had no choice but to attend. However, Cornelia knew her husband cared little for the intricacies of social engagements.

He pressed on. “Shafiq - what house? Are they Gryffindors?” 

“No, Duncan. The Shafiqs are a Slytherin family.” _Like mine_ , she said to herself, steeling herself for the inevitable retort.

“Well that explains why I wouldn’t know them.” He went back to reading the paper.

Cornelia stifled the urge to roll her eyes, and instead prompted her daughter-in-law. “You were saying, Cho?”

“I believe Cormac has something planned, but I’m not sure what.”

“Not sure about what?” Cornelia’s eldest son breezed into the room and bent down to kiss his mother’s cheek. “Sorry to be late.”

“We were discussing your plans for the wedding. Your father and I will be spending the weekend at the Manor. You know how he hates traveling any distance.”

Duncan peered over the newspaper again. “That has nothing to do with it. I just don’t feel the need to leave Scotland. I have everything I could ever need here.”

Ewan couldn’t resist. “Right, Father. That and Floo Powder makes you cough, Portkeys give you vertigo, and the last time you Apparated yourself, you lost the tip of your finger."

There was a general snigger around the table.

“Children.” Cornelia warned, this time speaking to her sons. It wouldn’t do to upset their father, he’d just dig his heels. It would already be enough work to get him away from the castle.

“Mother, have you heard the news? Draco is bringing a guest.” Cormac jumped in, changing the subject.

“Oh, that’s nice.” Cornelia hadn’t heard that her nephew was courting, she would have to check with Narcissa to get the particulars. Draco certainly had waited long enough. It was good that he was finally settling down. She smiled at the thought of another wedding in the near future — a Malfoy wedding would be the event of the year, not just the season. “Who is she?”

“Well, that’s just it, Mother. No one knows. He’s bringing her from America.”

Cornelia stopped moving, her wine glass still in hand. Even Duncan put his paper down.No one said anything, but all of the adults at the table leaned forward, save for Cormac who sat back in his chair with a smug smile on his face. “Word is, she must be a muggle-born.”

There was an audible gasp from around the room and Cornelia started coughing, having swallowed a sip of wine at precisely the wrong time.

Oh dear, her brother, Lucius, was going to have a whole litter of Kneazles.


	3. Narcissa/Hermione/Theo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey friends - sorry to have taken a while to get this one posted. I had real life stuff to take care of. Anyways, I'm back and still working well ahead of this point, so with any luck, I'll return to a Friday posting schedule. Shout out to my Alpha - FrappuBean.
> 
> Also, if you are reading this in real time, I added an addendum to my author's note before Ch 1 which I hope helps to make clear what I am trying to do. I had a really good convo with someone about it, and I wanted to share, in case it's helpful. 
> 
> Thanks for reading.

Narcissa

London

A week later, Narcissa was no closer to pinning down her son. Her owl had just returned from a second trans-Atlantic voyage without a return letter. She knew Draco was independent, but it wasn’t like him to be so out of touch — not that she had tipped her hand, either. She had no plans to confront him directly, she was just “checking in” after all. But, if he wasn’t responding, she would have to resort to other means. If she were anyone else, perhaps she would have sent a Howler, but that type of behavior was not something she would stoop to.

What she didn’t want was for her husband to get wind of this rumour, at least not without having the details behind it. It wasn’t that she disliked muggle-borns, but it was one thing to do business with them and yet another to have them for dinner, let alone invite them into your family. Thankfully, she was sure _that_ was not on the table. Draco had been raised to understand his duty to his name, to his family. If someone was accompanying him to the wedding, she would prefer to hear about it from him, rather than from others. She knew Draco’s friend circle had grown wider as he had grown older. She could accept that.

It was a good thing that Lucius was currently away. It was keeping him both out of her hair and his ears out of reach of mouths who would be all too happy to “inquire” after Draco and whatever he might be doing in America.

She hadn’t exhausted all of her avenues for information, however. While she would have preferred to go to the source, she decided it was time to employ another strategy. She sat down at her desk to pen one more letter and sent it off with a smile. Yes, there was more than one way to get the information she sought.

She was just settling herself on a chair in the sitting room when an elf appeared to let her know that her guest had arrived.

“Yes. Show him in, Mippy.”

The elf bowed, popped away, and soon ushered in her visitor.

“Theo, darling. It’s been far too long. I’m so glad you could join me.”

Theo crossed the room and bent to kiss his aunt, once on each cheek. “My dearest aunt, when do I ever refuse your invitations?”

 _Exactly_ , Narcissa thought. If Draco wouldn’t talk to her, she would go to the next best source — her son’s closest friend and confidante.

She waited for Theo sit before starting her inquiry. Internally, she was poised to pounce, but externally she would show nothing out of the ordinary.“I must be honest, when I sent the note, I wasn’t sure if you were back from Paris. How was it?” She watched for his reaction, knowing that as a fellow Slytherin, he was well-practiced in the art of subterfuge and obfuscation. However, he hadn’t been at it nearly as long as she had.

“ _Charmant_ , as usual. You really should attend sometime.”

“My dear boy, I stopped going years ago. If I want to drink champagne and see people being rude, I can do that in my own home. No, I’ll leave that to you young people.” She paused, letting her words sink in. “I heard one of your classmates was there. Did you enjoy catching up?”

Theo dropped his gaze just for a moment and Narcissa knew her point had been made. She wouldn’t press him on what she had heard of his behavior. She didn’t need to, but now she had him on edge, so she decided to go after the information she really wanted.

“Speaking of young people, I was surprised to hear that we would be having an extra house guest for the wedding.”

“Pardon?” Theo’s face was carefully neutral, showing not a hint of surprise, but the tone of his voice gave it away. Narcissa would have missed it, if she hadn’t been paying close attention. His affect was purposefully flat, confirming what Narcissa had suspected — that he that did have information about what was going on.

She knew Theo wouldn’t give up his secrets so readily, so she pressed on. “Indeed. I’m having the elves freshen the guest suite.” _In Draco’s wing_ , she didn’t need to say.

Theo’s eyes widened for just a moment. “Well that’s so kind of you, Aunt Narcissa. I’m sure that Draco and his guest will appreciate the gesture.”

“Unfortunately, I can’t remember what her name is. I don’t want to be so gauche as to have to ask when she arrives, and you know how busy Draco is. You’ve met her, haven’t you?”

She was careful to not lean forward. Theo wouldn’t lie to her, and he had already confirmed that Draco was bringing someone.

Theo’s eyes narrowed in recognition of the snare that was already tightening around him. “I have.”

Narcissa smiled her sweetest smile, the kind a tiger may give thinking of the meal it’s about to enjoy before it pounces. “So, tell me about her.”

“Hermione is simply lovely. She’s a very talented witch _and_ she seems very good for Draco.”

So, her name was Hermione. In her mind, she filtered through the families she knew in America trying to remember anyone named Hermione, but drawing a blank. Narcissa’s blood started to boil. Theo’s last trip to New York had been quite a while ago. If Theo had met this girl then and now Draco was bringing her home, that meant that things were more serious than she had expected. 

Her son didn’t date. Purebloods didn’t date. They _courted_ , with all the archaic rituals and negotiations leading to a betrothal contract. Granted, most American families of status didn’t keep with all the same conventions, but some held to tradition, even if their family trees weren’t quite as carefully cultivated. There were a few acceptable options over there.

“That’s wonderful. And her family?”

She noted Theo took a deep breath before he answered. “You know, Aunt Narcissa, that didn’t come up.”

“I see. Well, I’m looking forward to Draco’s visit.” She had what she needed and would drop the subject for now.“It’s been too long since he’s been home. I don’t know why he insists on staying over there. I’m sure he’s learned enough by now.” Narcissa led Theo back to well worn territory — her disapproval of Draco’s choice to study in America.

She heard Theo sigh in relief, knowing his interrogation had come to an end. “Aunt Narcissa, you know that Draco is studying under the very best potion master in the world. And, of course, he would only work with the best.”

“What I don’t understand is why he felt the need to do a mastery in the first place. It’s not like he’ll ever use it.”

“Alas, why does Draco do any of the things that he does, dear Aunt, especially when he has everything he needs right here?” He waved his hand around the room for emphasis.

She knew he was being at least a little sarcastic, but couldn’t resist. “My point exactly, Theo.”

* * *

Hermione

New York

Hermione sat back on the sofa in Draco’s apartment, a glass of red wine in her hand. The term at Ilvermorny had ended a week ago, and she had headed to New York after completing her duties at school. Given the last weeks of the term had been rather hectic, she was enjoying a few days of having little to do other than read, relax and wander around the city while Draco finished his work.

Draco’s apartment wasn’t large — it was New York, after all, but it was big enough for the two of them to co-exist. He had a small study with a potions bench where he spent much of his time at home. Hermione was content to spend her time in the living room or more often than not, in the kitchen, trying to cut down on the number of times they had to get take out. It wouldn’t do to spend extra money before they even left on their trip, after all. She wasn’t the best of cooks — household spells were _not_ her forte — but she could hold her own, making basic meals with a mix of muggle and magical techniques. At least Draco seemed appreciative of her efforts. He came in, kissed her on the forehead and wandered into the kitchen to grab his plate. While she normally would have waited for him, he had told her not to, as his master was keeping him busier than normal so he could finish certain projects before his break.

He joined her on the couch, plate in hand. “Mmm… this looks good and I’m starving.”

“How did it go today? Almost done?”

“Mmhmm” He said with his mouth full, but swallowed before saying anything else. “I think three days tops. She’s got me working on a special order for the hospital. Of course, she could finish it herself, but why on earth would she need to do that when she has me?” Draco grinned before shoveling another forkful in his mouth.

Hermione turned her attention back to her laptop to give Draco a chance to eat. She was looking up information on Amsterdam. She had been told that the magical library there had some unusual transfiguration resources and thought that it might be worth a side trip to visit.

“What are you looking at?” He asked as he set his plate down.

“I was looking for info on Amsterdam. I hear they have a collection of Switch’s working journals there and I was wondering about changing our plans to go there.”

Draco thought for a moment. “Hmm, we may be able to find those in England. Not that I’m opposed to Amsterdam, though.”

“Oh, they’re really rare. I haven’t heard of the British Ministry’s library carrying them.”

“I wasn’t suggesting that they would. But we may be able to find them.”

“Where?”

“I have an idea.” He didn’t elaborate, but then he took a deep breath. Hermione closed her laptop and turned her full attention to him.

“So, I went ahead and booked a hotel for our time in London.”

Hermione looked confused. “But I thought we were staying with your parents.”

“Well, I figured it would be easier this way. This way we’ll have our own space and we won’t impose on them. We’ll still see plenty of them, I’m sure.” 

Hermione’s brow was furrowed. “Draco, you know I don’t mind at all. I’d rather you be able to spend time with your family. You haven’t seen them in quite a while. ”

“It’s not like that. But, they can be quite…” He paused, as if searching for the right word.“…traditional, so it’ll just be easier for us to stay on our own.”

“Draco, I’m fine sleeping on the couch or wherever — I don’t want to make them uncomfortable. I certainly don’t want them to think badly of me. And besides, what about our budget?”

Draco pulled Hermione close and wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her hair and breathing deeply and Hermione relaxed into his embrace.

“The budget will be fine. The hotel is not that much. Here’s the thing. My parents and I have a very formal relationship. It’s very different than the relationship you have with your mum. Because of how I grew up, I tend to keep them at arms-length. In my family, information is shared on a need-to-know basis only, and usually for a particular purpose.”

Hermione started to pull away. “Wait… are you saying they didn’t know about me until now? Draco, you met my mother a month after we started dating! And we’ve been dating for almost two years now.”

His arms held her tight. “Relax. Once they meet you, they’ll love you. It’s just that my family is a bit complicated.”

Hermione didn’t relax, instead, she twisted in his arms so she was now facing him. “Define complicated.”

“Well, I have a really big family.”

“But you’re an only child.”

“Yes, but I have a number of aunts and uncles and cousins in various configurations of inter-relation. The magical community in Britain is fairly small and fairly set in their ways of doing things.”

“And the rest of your family? They’re all like your parents? Quintessential Brits with a stiff upper lip?”

Draco winced slightly, whether at the truth of her words or something else, she didn’t know. “You met Theo. He’s not like that.”

Hermione thought about it. She had met Theo, she had liked Theo. Draco had even found her sitting at the floo chatting with Theo a time or two, if he had not been in the room when Theo called.

“But yes, my parents are reserved, some would say emotionally distant.”

“But that’s not how you are.” She relaxed into his embrace once more.

“Heavens, no. I decided quite some time ago that I needed to live my own life.” He bent his head to find a spot on her neck that was particularly responsive and kissed it. “And I am ever so glad, Hermione Granger, that you are a part of it.”

o0o

As she packed her bag for the trip, Hermione thought through everything Draco had said. She realized that Draco knew so much about her — where she had grown up, what her childhood had been like, the challenges of leaving her mom to attend Ilvermorny, but she, in turn knew very little about Draco’s upbringing. Sure, she knew that he had gone to Hogwarts, that he had several close friends from his time there, but their conversation had left her with more questions. What had it been like for him to grow up with parents who, if she was to believe Draco’s characterization, had withheld their affection from their son? And why would they do such a thing?

She called her mother to catch up and shared her concerns. Her mother, however, scoffed. “Hermione, you’re worrying about things that you don’t need to. You don’t know what Draco had to go through, poor thing. Not all parents and children have the same relationship that you and I do.”

Hermione knew this was true from her own experience, but it didn’t answer the questions that were still lingering.

“Maybe his family is poor. Maybe he’s ashamed for some reason. You don’t know the particulars. You just need to follow his lead. I know that can be hard for you. Try to go with it and enjoy your summer adventure. Who knows when you’ll have the opportunity to do this again.”

Her mother was right. She was about to head off on an adventure with the man she loved. As far as his family was concerned, he would be sure to steer her in the right direction. It was going to be a great summer.

After all, what could possibly go wrong?

* * *

Theo

Suffolk

An owl tapped on the window and Theo got up to let it in. He tossed it a treat and untied the letter, throwing it on the table where at least three other unopened letters sat, each addressed in the same handwriting. He didn’t need to open them because he wasn’t interested in what they had to say.

Fuck Harry Potter and the broom he rode in on.

Theo poured himself another glass of fire whisky and sat back down in his armchair. He didn’t like feeling off kilter, and between the encounter with Harry and his aunt pumping him for information, he felt decidedly uneasy. In fact, he blamed Potter for his aunt’s successes. Had he not been so distracted, he never would have walked right into the trap she had set.

Thankfully, Draco wasn’t upset with him. While surely there would be consequences later, Draco had been relieved that he didn’t have to break the news himself. Although, Draco had said that his mother had been particularly tight-lipped when he had finally spoken with her to let her know that he was bringing someone home with him.

Potter. Images of a time long ago were circulating in his mind — two young boys who weren’t meant to be friends but somehow had found each other across the divide. They had learned many things with each other, at first, each of them tentative and unsure. Both were inexperienced, so they had figured things out together. Yes, it may have been clandestine, given their different houses and whatnot, but it wasn’t unwelcome. Until one day in their sixth year, when Harry didn’t bother to show up and sent Theo a note that said that he wasn’t planning to meet him again — that things were just too complicated. And then, to make it worse, Harry had started openly dating women, as if he was turning his back on everything that Theo and he had done.

It had been painful for Theo to see Harry ignore the connection that he felt so fundamentally. They had worked so well together. Although they were from opposing houses, they just fit. But Harry’s rejection had been so unexpected, that it had taken Theo until after he had graduated from Hogwarts to open up again. Even now, he had no interest in being someone’s stepping stone. He preferred to be the one calling the shots, making it clear that there would be no feelings involved. No commitment. No strings attached. That way, no one had expectations and no one got hurt.

And after all this time, Harry Potter wanted to reach out? Theo was not interested. He was not only both older and wiser, he was also far more confident in who he was and what he wanted, and a complicated _thing_ with Harry Potter was not part of the equation.

Still, he’d be lying if he didn’t admit to feeling some latent curiosity. Harry was rather fit and definitely shaggable. Maybe he could get Harry into his bed and out of his system — and this time leave Harry wanting more so Theo could turn his back on him. That would be poetic justice.

His conscience assuaged, Theo reached for one of the letters and sat back in his chair to read what Harry had to say for himself.


	4. Cormac McLaggen/Harry Potter/Hermione

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Many thanks to my Alpha, FrappuBean, for keeping me on the straight and narrow. :)

Cormac McLaggen

Edinburgh

Cormac sat in his rather plush office contemplating the circumstances of his life. He sat back in his chair, legs spread wide, zoned out to the details around him.

When Cormac was young, he had thought Castle Leòmhann, the ancestral home of the McLaggens, was a wonderful place. There were plenty of portraits to talk to and places to hide. They even had a few ghosts, McLaggen ancestors who had died during a bloodier time in Scotland’s history. Now that he was older, however, he knew what a shithole it really was. The castle was nowhere near as grand or opulent as Malfoy Manor. And because of ridiculous inheritance customs, the Manor would one day pass to his cousin, Draco, even though _he_ was the oldest grandchild. It was completely unfair.

It wasn’t as if his personal vault was lacking. He had plenty to take care of his immediate needs, and when his parents kicked the bucket at last, he would be rather well off. However, his own nest egg was nothing when compared to the resources that Draco had at his disposal. His blood still boiled as he remembered one particular shared Christmas at the Manor. Both boys unwrapped new brooms from their parents — his a Comet 290, while Draco had been gifted a Nimbus 2001 - the latest and greatest.

He was sure his father had been the cause of the deficiency of his gift, probably trying to impart a bit of Scottish sensibility.

“You’re not a seeker, Cormac. You don’t need a racing broom. This one will serve you just fine.”

Fuck that. His cousin was always given the best of everything and while his parents had the galleons to pamper their children just as much, they chose not to and he resented them for it.He deserved the best as well, and he had long ago decided that he would live his life differently than his parents. At least now he was of an age where he could buy his own damn broom — and you best believe that he always had the latest model in his broom shed.

He and his brother were different in that way. Ewan seemed to be content with what he was given. I guess it followed — after all, he was the spare. But Cormac had always been ambitious and driven, even if others chose to call it “entitled.”

He winced, his thoughts suddenly drawn back to the present.

“Mind your sodding teeth,” he gritted, eventually relaxing back into his reverie.

What he wasn’t was a twat, like his cousin. While the two of them (three, if you counted Ewan) had been together at holidays and obligatory events at their grandmother’s or in other milieus, it wasn’t until Draco came to Hogwarts that they had existed in the same space for any length of time. Cormac was a year older, and to no one’s surprise, he had been sorted into Gryffindor, as nearly every McLaggen had been for centuries. But a small part of him wondered whether he could have been sorted into Slytherin — and what would have happened if he had been. Would his mother and grandmother have looked at him differently? Would they have given more weight to the Malfoy blood that ran through his veins? (Which, mind you, was just as much as Draco’s.)

Cormac’s first year at Hogwarts was spent learning his way around the castle and discovering what it was like to live more independently. He found that it suited him — making his own decisions and navigating the complicated social networks within the castle’s walls. His mother was a Malfoy and so, he was treated as such, as if he were free to pass out his family’s favors and invitations on his own. His parentage even bought him some level of free pass from those in Slytherin house, even though the rivalry between Slytherin and Gryffindor was well entrenched. And, while he had no particular use for them at eleven years old, even the girls treated him with more than a modicum of interest and respect. After all, he was somebody. And the nature of his familial connections was higher than most, if not all, of theirs.

However, that changed once the _Prince_ arrived. From the moment Draco set foot on the Hogwarts Express, it was as if the last year hadn’t happened and Cormac didn’t even exist. It was as if _he_ was the spare. Sure, the Slytherins still left him alone, but they certainly didn’t go out of their way for him either, now that favor with the Malfoys could be curried directly with a Malfoy.

His stomach burned as he had watched as his cousin enter the Great Hall, flanked by his personal lackeys. Most in the room went quiet — thinking that this was _the_ pinnacle of wizarding society around them, the Malfoy heir. The Sorting Hat wasn’t even set on Draco’s head before everyone heard it loudly proclaim, “ _SLYTHERIN_.” The applause that erupted was surpassed only by Harry Potter being sorted into his own house. Cormac sank down in his seat. It became clear to him at that moment that at the ripe old age of twelve, his time had passed.

Still, he carved out his own space at Hogwarts. His grades were decent. Not earth-shattering, but he was no slouch, either. By his third year, he had made the quidditch team as the back up keeper, becoming the starter in his sixth year. And, he stood out in other ways, too. By his fifth year he had been named a prefect, although his reputation for deflowering girls was also well-known. (Not that he stuck around — there was always another girl to entice into an empty classroom or broom closet.)

Speaking of acts done by girls in broom closets, the one currently on her knees under his desk wasn’t doing much for him at the moment. He grasped his secretary’s head and encouraged her to deepen her ministrations, not minding that she gagged as he pressed her to take more of him. It was a pleasant-enough distraction, but he would need more to reach completion.

When Ewan finally started at Hogwarts in Cormac’s fourth year, he acted as any big brother would. He tolerated his younger brother, but didn’t go out of the way to engage him during their time at school. Somehow, Ewan had been sorted into Slytherin. Cormac wasn’t even that surprised, given he was sure that Ewan was secretly his mother’s favorite. He had expected his father to be horrified to have a McLaggen in Slytherin, but the elder McLaggen seemed to take it in stride. “ _It takes all types. I guess we should be glad he is one of ours.”_ His father had said after clapping his younger brother on the back. Deep down however, Cormac had known it was a mistake. He was far more ambitious and cunning than his brother would ever be. Ewan seemed content to go through life as a passenger, while Cormac always found a way to mold the world to his liking.

Cormac and his cousin were cordial enough in public (it wouldn’t do to expose family business to outsiders) but they were far from friends. Cormac had always been confused by Draco’s application to his studies — he didn’t need to work as hard as he did. His vaults would be just as full, regardless. And, after Draco finished at Hogwarts, he definitely didn’t understand why Draco found the need to undertake the extra work to pursue a potions mastery and then the mastery itself. Draco had everything Cormac didn’t. He certainly didn’t need to work. He could have stayed in England and been a fixture on the social circuit, bedding whatever women he chose until his parents pressed him to settle down, and then still could continue to bed whatever women he chose after his marriage, as long as he produced the requisite heir.

Cormac, himself, had been pleasantly surprised when it came time for him to marry. His parents had pointed him in the direction of his former classmate, Cho Chang. No one could say that she wasn’t a beauty. Her body was still rather fit from her years playing Quidditch, and as a Ravenclaw, her intelligence wasn’t an issue. In addition, her family was wealthy enough (although not as wealthy as the McLaggens) that she had her own inheritance and wouldn’t need to draw on his. On paper, they made a pretty good match.

He and his betrothed had quickly reached an agreement that even now governed their relationship. They would present to world-at-large that their relationship was solid — that Cho adored Cormac, and that he doted on her, even if it presented as thinly-veiled tolerance at times. Cho would bear two children, an heir and a spare, as was the McLaggen custom, and she would personally be involved in raising them. Further, she would not make an issue of his dalliances, like any good pureblood wife. In return, he would provide her with a home to be proud of, jewels to show off, his attendance at the right charity events to support her causes, and most importantly, his name and connections.

His thoughts returned to Draco. If the rumours were true, and he had no reason to suspect that they weren’t, the plot was definitely thickening. He didn’t think his cousin would actually attempt to wed a muggle-born, but for him to even bring anyone around the family was a significant development. That just wasn’t done. Cormac knew that the expectations that Draco’s parents had for his match were even greater than Cormac’s had been. And of course, instead of doing what was expected, Draco was doing what he wanted.

But, pursuing that particular path could definitely cause Draco to fall out of favor with his parents — and more importantly, with the old lady, their grandmother. Perhaps Cormac had been too quick to give up on his dreams of inheritance. Maybe a McLaggen could be good enough for Malfoy Manor after all.

The thought was enough to spur him towards completion. He reached down to grasp his secretary’s head between his legs and set his own rhythm, his cock becoming harder as he thought through his next steps.

He wondered what his Uncle Lucius would think about all of this. Knowing his aunt, Lucius would be blissfully in the dark. Well, perhaps he would have a chat with his uncle and start laying the groundwork for his own succession plan. He was the heir that the family needed. “Yes, yes!” He gasped, holding her head still as he erupted, pulsing several times. Conveniently, she was a swallower. It was much cleaner that way.

He hissed as she released him with a pop, and quickly tucked himself back inside his trousers.

“Thank you, Moira. I think you should take the rest of the day off.” He rummaged in his pocket and fished out a few galleons and tossed them on his desk. “Go buy yourself something pretty, eh? I’m sure your boyfriend will appreciate it.”

She stood and smoothed down her skirt, reaching to gather the galleons that had been proffered. This one was a pretty one. His eyes drifted down to her more than ample chest — perhaps next time he would come there.

“Oh, but before you go, see if you could find out when my uncle is due back in town.”

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Which one, sir? Your father’s brother or your mother’s?”

“The Malfoy, Moira. I couldn’t care less what my Uncle Tiberius is up to.”

“Understood, sir.”

He finished straightening himself and prepared to head home. He wanted to find his wife and see if he could convince her to give him a proper shag. That little bit had only whetted his appetite, and he had a lot of planning to do.

* * *

Harry Potter

London

It had been two weeks since Harry and Theo had crossed paths. While Harry hadn’t gone looking for Theo, he wasn’t unhappy to have run into him in Paris, either. He thought a lot about his time with Theo, primarily the shame he felt about how he had left things between them.

He could give all the excuses in the world why he had done what he had done, but in the end, he knew they didn’t measure up, that they fell flat in the face of his actions. His actions weren’t those of a Gryffindor. Where was the bravery, the loyalty? To tell the truth, it had all caught him off guard. At first, he had found himself confused and unsure. He didn’t have anyone to talk to, and he certainly didn’t think that any of his girl-crazed dorm-mates would have understood. So, it was easier to pretend. Easier to think of it all as a big mistake. Easier to turn his back on the one person who had shown him how things could be, and who saw him just as he was.

Harry had regretted how he had ended things with Theo almost instantly, but instead of trying to make it right, he had dug in his heels. He had made his bed and had to lie in it. And besides, his friends never would have understood that he had somehow developed feelings for a Slytherin.

But that was then. The remainder of his sixth year and all of his seventh had been a carefully crafted façade. He would be the Harry Potter that others expected him to be. He jumped from one willing girl to the next, each interested in his name far more than in who he was as a person. Each encounter, however, left him feeling hollow, as if he was denying a fundamental part of himself. After graduation, he was happy to throw himself into his work. It was a safe place to put his energies, with only an occasional foray into more carnal exploits.

Since leaving Hogwarts, Harry always paid particular attention to the articles in the _Daily Prophet_ when he saw Theo’s name. He knew that Theo was unabashedly single and he seemed to have taken to life as a socialite, as his background would have required. The papers covered him frequenting charity events and giving donations to the right organizations, always in a certain crowd which did not normally overlap with Harry’s own social circle.

When Harry’s friend, Fleur Delacour, had asked whether he would be willing to attend her sister’s launch party, Harry had said yes knowing there was a greater chance he would cross paths with Theo in Paris than at any of the incredibly boring Ministry events that he typically had cause to frequent.But then what? After all these years, had he matured enough to come clean? To apologize? And if he did, would Theo even listen? Harry couldn’t blame him if he didn’t.

Of course, he had seen him. It was hard to miss Theo holding court, entertaining the women who were drawn to his side in an attempt to entreat him to court their daughters. Harry laughed. At least as a half-blood, he didn’t have the same pressures. While his vaults were nothing to sneeze at and his name was well-known, purebloods were a funny lot. Half-bloods may be tolerated in pureblood circles, but marriage was a different story, at least for the men. A half-blooded woman of sufficient talent or beauty might slip into the upper echelons — they needed new blood from time to time, after all. But, a half-blood man was not marrying material. No, a half-blood man could only serve as a bed mate or (quietly) a sire for one’s children, if the deed couldn’t be done for one reason or another. It was no matter to Harry. He was glad to be able to sidestep all the social machinations.

Harry saw his chance when Theo headed towards the bar. If he moved quickly, he thought he might catch Theo alone, and he had. For a brief moment, Harry had seen recognition and relief in his former friend’s eyes, but then they had tightened. And Theo had left without Harry being able to say much, let alone what he had hoped to share. 

Two weeks. Three bottles of firewhisky. Four owls. So far, there had been nothing but silence. At least in his letters, Harry had said his peace. Writing the apology had been cathartic. Even if nothing ever came of it — even if Theo had thrown his letters directly into the fire, he felt more at ease than he had since sixth year.

* * *

Hermione

New York to London

Over Draco's protestations, Hermione had insisted that they fly to London on a muggle airplane. He had been ready to secure a Portkey, but Hermione was having none of that. International Portkeys were so expensive for a distance like this. They needed to save their money for the rest of the trip. And besides, she had never flown internationally before. It would be another part of the adventure. Draco acquiesced, but Hermione had another surprise when they arrived at the airport and he approached the BA ticket counter on the First Class side.

“Draco, what are you doing?”

“Checking us in?”

“But we don’t have First Class tickets.”

“Yes, we do.”

“Draco - we don’t.”

She started reaching for her phone so she could show him, but he put his hand out and stopped her. “So, I upgraded us.”

She wasn’t sure what to say. She was confused by the last minute change in plans, concerned about how this might impact the budget she had carefully prepared, and just generally perplexed.

Draco took her hand in his. “Love, it’s no worry, really. Let me do this. We’ll be much more comfortable flying this way, I assure you.”

She sighed, knowing there was nothing she could do at this point and a grin started to appear in the corner of his mouth.

“You’re impossible, you know.”

He leaned over and kissed her forehead, “And yet you love me just the same.”

Once they were settled on the plane, Hermione didn’t want to admit it, but Draco was right. This was much more comfortable than the Economy seats they usually took when they flew back and forth to California to visit her mother. She could get used to this. Well, not really, because their budget wouldn’t allow it, but for this part of the trip, she would enjoy it. She sipped on the drink the flight attendant had insisted on bringing her and looked over at Draco. His eyes were closed, probably trying to nap after several long days finishing up.

Her mind drifted, thinking back to when they had met. Her colleague and friend, Claire, Ilvermorny’s Potions professor, had just come back from a Potions workshop raving about a new mastery student she had met.

“Hermione, you should see him. He’s tall, blond, gorgeous and has the most delicious British accent. If I wasn’t already taken…” Her friend’s voice had drifted off, and Hermione looked up from her desk where she was grading essays.

“Not interested, Claire. You know I’ve sworn off dating.”

“Hermione, it’s been months. And you’re too young to not date.”

She hadn’t sworn off of dating, strictly speaking. She had sworn off being fixed up. One too many suggested dates gone wrong had soured her on the idea of her friends fixing her up with anyone. She always ended up spending time with men who were intimidated by her intellect, her honesty or her forthrightness. Clearly, she wasn’t attracting the right kind of man, or her friends weren’t. And besides, she had plenty of other things keeping her busy.

“Hermione, I had a great talk with him. Ireally think you would like him. Really. And he’s here in town for the next couple days.”

“Not happening.”

Her friend sighed. “Well, at least take a break so we can get some coffee. There’s a place I’ve been meaning to try.”

Hermione acquiesced and let her friend Apparate them to a spot near their destination and motioned her to follow.

“Where are we? Back Bay?” Hermione looked around, blinking.

Her friend nodded. “It’s not that far. And besides, you’ll love the pastries here.”

True, Hermione had needed a break, and a change of pace would do her good. Claire had been right. It was a good cup of coffee and the bear claw she had picked out hit the spot.

Claire was telling her about some of what had been discussed at the workshop when she suddenly stopped talking. Hermione turned her head, following her friend’s gaze to see a tall, blond entering the shop. He spotted Claire, gave a friendly wave, and went to place his order.

Hermione was not amused. “Let me guess, the Brit?”

“Hermione, I swear, I had no idea he would be here. Besides, there’s no harm in saying hello.”

Hermione clenched her teeth and sunk down in her seat, as the stranger walked over to the table. “Claire! How funny to run into you again so soon.” He nodded at Hermione.

Claire smiled brightly and kicked Hermione under the table. “It is. Draco, isn’t it?”

“Yes. Might I join you? I was wondering what you had thought of the lecture on the effect of the moon cycle on the harvesting of Goosegrass.”

Hermione’s ears perked up, intrigued by the topic. While she taught Transfiguration, there were plenty of other subjects that she found interesting, Potions was just one of them.

Claire gestured for him to join them and he pulled up another chair. As he sat, he held out his hand to Hermione. She shook it, as Claire introduced them. He then immediately launched into his thoughts on the lecture.

Hermione sat back and watched, only half-listening to the conversation. She could admit that Claire was right. Draco had a nice build and he had gorgeous grey eyes. His hair was so blond it was almost white, but it suited his complexion. She shook her head. It was a shame she wasn’t interested.

“… Well, but it doesn’t make sense. Fluxweed needs to be picked at the full moon for Polyjuice, but if you’re making Wiggenweld, you’re telling me that… “

Hermione interrupted. “That’s because the soil it’s grown in has more of an effect than the moon cycle. If it’s grown in acidic soil, it won’t perform properly regardless of the moon cycle.”

Draco turned and looked at her curiously. “I’m sorry, Hermione, right? Were you at the workshop?”

“I wasn’t.”

“And your field is Potions?” His tone wasn’t sarcastic. He seemed genuinely curious.

“No, actually she teaches Transfiguration with me at Ilvermorny.” Claire chimed in with a smile.

Draco looked impressed. “Hmm…that’s a far cry from Potions.”

“And yet, she’s right,” Claire affirmed.

Hermione looked sheepish. “Sorry, Claire. You know I get carried away sometimes.”

Her friend just smiled, but Draco leaned in towards her. “So, is there a way to counteract the acidic soil, or are you just out of luck?”

“Well, your best bet is to figure it out ahead of time. New England has a lot of acidic soil, so the best practice is to plant hydrangea near any plants used for potion ingredients that are sensitive to acidic soil. They’re a great indicator of soil conditions.”

“Huh. I hadn’t thought about that.” He shook his head. “That’s what I get for being new to the area. It’s generally not something we need to deal with in the U.K.”

Draco sat back, pondering the new information.

“Interesting. That’s something we need to know for our H.A.R.E.s.”

Draco looked confused once again.

“You know, our final exams.”

“Oh, you mean like the N.E.W.T.s?”

Hermione chuckled. “I guess I don’t know much about how magical education works in Britain. I thought our school was set up similarly to Hogwarts.”

“And clearly, I don’t know enough about how things work over here.”

Hermione liked his accent and realized she wanted to hear more of it. It was so different than the American English she heard around her, especially the Boston accent that had taken a while for her California ears to adjust to when she had first moved across the country.

“Have you been here long?”

“Just a couple months. I’ve recently started a potions mastery in New York.”

“So I’ve heard.” She turned to glance at Claire who all of a sudden started collecting her belongings.

“Will you look at the time! I’ve got to go meet someone, but you two should stay and talk some more.”

Hermione wanted to be mad at her friend, but just couldn’t find it in her.

“Do you need to go, too?” Draco looked at her.

Hermione chewed her bottom lip and tried to covertly send a glare Claire’s way. Claire knew exactly what she was doing. This was the most interesting conversation that Hermione had had in some time with a male that didn’t work at Ilvermorny and she wasn’t due back until curfew.

“I can stay a bit longer.”

Draco’s eyes brightened at her response.

Her initial cup of coffee turned into three as the afternoon turned to evening, and she finally put her hand over her cup when the waiter came to refill her cup once again.

“If I drink another sip of coffee, I’m afraid I won’t sleep tonight.”

Draco was undeterred. “Maybe a walk, instead?”

“That sounds lovely.”

They continued their conversation as they walked along, looking in the windows of the various shops. Eventually, Hermione’s stomach growled and she checked her watch. It was around 9 o’clock, and she had long ago missed dinner.

“Oh, I’ve kept you too long and I haven’t offered to feed you. My mother would have my head if she knew.”

Hermione chuckled. “Well, my mother wouldn’t care a whit about that.”

Draco looked around.

“Can I get you something? I do feel bad to have so lost track of time.”

“Thanks, but no, I should be getting back to school. I can grab something there.”

Draco’s face fell for just a moment. He stopped and turned toward her.

“I’ve really enjoyed talking to you, Hermione. Would you understand if I said that I wasn’t quite ready for the evening to end?”

She was glad for the darkness that covered the blush she felt creep across her face.

“I have, too, Draco.”

She reached into her bag to find a pen and a scrap of paper and quickly scribbled something.

“Here. Here’s my cell number. If you have another break in the workshop and you want some company, let me know.”

She handed him the paper and his hand brushed hers as he took it, both of their hands held there longer than was necessary. She looked up to see Draco’s eyes on her. Hermione wasn’t sure what was supposed to happen next. How did one end an impromptu coffee house conversation with an incredibly good looking and quite captivating Brit that had lasted hours longer than it was supposed to? She dropped her hand to her side and stepped back, nervously.

“Well, have a good night Draco.”

“You too, Hermione.”

She started walking towards the Apparition point, but turned back to see him standing there watching her with a curious smile on his face.

Ugh. Claire was going to be insufferable.


	5. Lucius and Narcissa/Draco and Hermione/Theo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What? No comments on Cormac's behaviour? I'm shocked! He's such a lout.
> 
> Continued thanks to FrappuBean for helping me make sense of it all.

Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy

Monaco and London

Lucius looked out onto the water from his perch on the balcony. The Mediterranean sun was warm on his skin. He had found how much he enjoyed being alone from time to time later in life and regularly took the opportunity to get away from the dreary English weather when he could. While he needed to manage the family’s holdings, thankfully that could be done from anywhere. However, his desire to keep up with the Ministry’s political machinations had waned. After so many he knew had been caught up in the Unpleasantness (excluding his family, given some carefully placed donations that helped Ministry officials overlook any of his own fingerprints), he had decided that he preferred to sit back and enjoy the trappings that his station in life afforded him.

Let others take their turn at pulling the strings of government. He still could wield his own shears when necessary.

He heard a quiet pop which pulled him back to the present. It must be important if his elf was disturbing him at this time of day.

“Master Lucius, I is sorry to interrupt, but the Mistress is being in the Floo.”

Narcissa? Making a floo call? Something must be wrong. Narcissa never made Floo calls — receive them, yes, but get down on her hands and knees and put her head in the flames? It just didn’t happen.

“LUCIUS!” He heard her calling for him as he entered the house and quickened his step. As a rule, she also didn’t raise her voice.

“Yes, dear.” He responded as he entered his study, taking in her flaming portrait.

“We have a problem.”

His mind began running through the possibilities. It was likely that one of his wife’s family had found themselves in a bind. It happened from time to time, most likely her crazy sister.

“It’s your son.”

At that, Lucius’s ears perked up. Draco was always “his son” when his mother was displeased with something he had done, but it also meant that he wasn’t in immediate danger. He didn’t say anything, deciding to wait out his wife.

“Apparently, he is entangled with an American.”

Lucius raised an eyebrow. It wasn’t ideal, but Draco was currently living in America. It wasn’t a stretch that he would find an American piece of tail to keep his bed warm. Bully for him. However, that couldn’t be all of the reason for Narcissa’s discomfiture.

“And I believe her to be a muggle-born.”

At this, Lucius sat down, his thoughts spinning.

“And you know this how?”Although he already knew that Narcissa would have thoroughly looked into the situation before calling him.

“He’s planning to bring her for the wedding. Theo confirmed it.”

Ah… so this was the issue. His son knew well enough about keeping himself and his business out of wizarding tabloids — unlike some of his wife’s relations, but the Zabini-Greengrass wedding would be quite a public affair, and as the best man and given his return to the country after quite a bit of time away, Draco would undoubtedly be under some scrutiny. Besides, given he hadn’t settled down yet, his marital status was still quite a topic of interest for far too many witches and their families.

Lucius thought through the ramifications of Narcissa’s comments. If Draco was bringing someone home with him, clearly she must be important to him. He had never mentioned a girl before, other than the mildly distasteful daughter of one of his wife’s nearest and dearest. But Lucius had never really given any thought to childhood playmates, and he knew Draco was both aware of his duty to the family and also fancied himself rather independent. Lucius had given Draco some time and latitude to live his life before obligation invariably took over. 

“See, you should have spoken up against those changes in the curriculum. And we never should have let him go to New York. If he hadn’t been exposed to all that nonsense, we wouldn’t be in this position. This is what happens when children get to make up their own minds.”

Even through the crackling, Lucius could hear the malice in Narcissa’s voice. That was a barb at him. After the Unpleasantness, Hogwarts had sought to change the curriculum to strengthen its Muggle Studies courses and make them mandatory for all students. By that time, however, whether Narcissa realized it or not, Lucius’s influence on the Board of Governors was not as strong as it had been. Popular opinion in wizarding society, other than in the most traditional of pureblood circles, was that times were changing and the students at Hogwarts would benefit from learning more about the larger society around them.

For his part, Lucius had remained silent on the proposal. He knew there was money to be made in the larger society — there always had been — and the Malfoy vaults were not the size that they were due to fear of taking money from those who they saw as beneath them. He thought some exposure to the muggle world would be good for Draco, both reinforcing what he had been taught and allowing him to have a leg up on other pureblood families who may not be so quick to take advantage of new opportunities for expansion and control.

When Draco had begun talking about the potions mastery, he had counseled Narcissa to bite her tongue. He had been convinced that it would not work in their favor to press Draco to remain in England after he had made up his mind to pursue a mastery. _“Let the boy go. He’ll return home sooner or later. He’s a Malfoy. He will do what is expected of him in the end.”_ Granted, he expected Draco would at least remain in Europe for his mastery, but Malfoys always sought the best, and as his own due diligence revealed, the American Potions master was pushing the field in ways that European masters had barely begun to scratch the surface.

Perhaps Lucius had put too much stock in his own feelings of duty and loyalty, expecting his son to share them. He knew that he and Narcissa weren’t particularly close with their son — that was the pureblood way after all. Children were provided for by parents, raised by elves, and if lucky, doted on by grandparents until such time that they headed off to Hogwarts to be educated. After which, there were a few awkward holidays and family gatherings to endure and then they would appear fully formed to take their proper place in the familial order. That’s how he had been raised and that’s how he had raised his son.

He sat back in the chair. “Do you know for a fact that she’s muggle-born?”

“Lucius, your son is ignoring me. I barely know her name.”

“Then we wait.” He thought through the ramifications, knowing his wife was unsatisfied. He heard her give a rather unladylike snort.

“What else can we do? Draco will be home soon. We’ll meet his guest and while he’s home we’ll be sure that he remembers what his familial obligations are. Does that suit?”

“None of this suits, Lucius.”

“He’s a Malfoy. He will do what he needs to do. I know he will.”

Narcissa frowned. “It’s time for you to come home, Lucius. Don’t you think?”

He sighed. For all the talk of the men in the family making the decisions, he knew that inside the home and inside the relationship, it was actually the women who truly wielded the power. Still, he needed to at least pretend that he was the one who wore the pants.

“I had already decided to, dear.”

* * *

Draco and Hermione

London

As they made their final descent towards Heathrow, Hermione sat looking out of the window while Draco pointed out different features on the countryside below. He was feeling equal parts excited and nervous, and neither was a feeling that he was wholly comfortable with. He wanted Hermione to enjoy her time in England. He wanted her to meet his family and friends. He wanted them to see her as he did, as an integral part of his life, and he hoped he wasn’t expecting too much out of everyone.

Draco also knew that hadn’t been completely up front with Hermione. There were things that she didn’t yet know about him, although she would find out, and probably soon. While Draco had grown up with money, it wasn’t what was important to him. It wasn’t what motivated him. However, so many of the people he knew were overly focused on wealth and its associated trappings: status, the size of someone’s vaults, the favors one could gain, the need to position oneself just right. He had no use for any of it, although others might be shocked to learn that. To Draco, money was just another thing that people used to distance themselves from each other. One of the reasons he had left England in the first place was to remove himself from such a world, but now he was back, temporarily, and he had already begun to feel the weight of it all on his shoulders once again. However, he had no doubts about Hermione’s ability to take it all in stride. She would be fine. They would be fine. Of that, he was sure.

At the entrance to the Arrivals Hall, Draco was surprised to spot Blaise Zabini sporting a smile a mile wide. Standing next to Blaise was his betrothed, Daphne Greengrass. Daphne was petite and fair and blonde, while Blaise was tall, with coffee-colored skin and closely-cropped hair. The bride and groom-to-be made a striking couple.

Draco dropped his bag and embraced them tightly. “It’s so good to see you. Both of you! What are you doing here?”

“You thought Blaise was going to miss seeing you the moment you landed?” Daphne laughed and pulled out of his grasp. “And you must be Hermione. Welcome! We’re so glad you’re here.”

Daphne leaned forward and embraced Hermione warmly, and Draco could feel a bit of the tension he was carrying ease, as two of the pieces of his life started to fit together.

Blaise reached down to pick up Hermione’s bag, a reasonably-sized duffle. “Is this all you’ve got?” She nodded and he turned to Draco. “She travels light.”

Hermione put her finger to her lips. “Extension and weightless charms. Helps avoid extra baggage fees.”

Blaise responded with a hearty laugh. “Nice.” He grabbed Draco’s arm. “Come on, let me show you my current ride.”

The men bounded ahead and Daphne trailed behind to walk with Hermione, shaking her head. “Men and their cars. As if they were any substitute for Apparition. What is Draco driving these days? He’s the one who got Blaise hooked.”

Hermione chuckled. “Actually, I didn’t know that Draco could drive. We don’t need a car in New York.” 

Draco looked back to see Hermione running a hand through her curls, probably concerned that they had just landed and she found herself meeting his friends for the first time. Thankfully, while he had been surprised to see Blaise and Daphne, both were dressed rather casually, so there was no concern of the two of them being out of place in muggle travel clothes. Blaise had always been a bit of a chameleon — fitting in to meet the circumstances, as required. In Blaise’s family, it was a bit of a self-preservation tactic, given his mother’s penchant for changing husbands with the seasons.

They reached a dark cherry Land Rover and Blaise opened the back and put their bags in.

“Nice.” Draco crooned. He paused, not sure whether to take the passenger seat or not.

“Go ahead and sit up front, Draco.” Daphne chuckled. Hermione and I will take the rear.”

The group settled themselves in the car and Blaise sped off. “Where to? Hungry?”

As if on queue, Draco’s stomach grumbled.

Blaise chuckled, “Excellent. Breakfast it is.”

Draco turned to Hermione, “Are you okay with that?”

She nodded. “Sure. I can eat.”

“How was your flight?” Daphne asked. “I must admit, I was surprised Draco didn’t insist on a Portkey.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “Ugh. International portkeys are so expensive. Given we’ll be traveling all summer, I thought it made more sense to fly this leg of the journey.”

Blaise turned as if to glance back at Daphne, but neither said anything, nor did Draco or Hermione noticed anything was amiss, other than a momentary lapse in the conversation..

Draco jumped in to fill the silence. “So, how’s the wedding planning? You ready?”

It was Daphne who responded first. “It’s great. Everything is under control. Just a few more things to do.”

“Who are you kidding, Daph? It’s been hectic for weeks, with your mum ordering us all around. At least Draco is finally here to lighten the load.” Blaise nudged his best man.

“So where are we heading, anyway?” Draco chimed in.

“I know a spot.” Blaise said coyly.

o0o

In no time at all, they were in central London. Hermione struggled to take it all in, not believing that she had made it to London at long last. Blaise weaved his way through the congested streets before pulling into a garage. “ _Andiamo!_ From here we go on foot.”

He led them down a tight alleyway and stopped before a heavy wooden door, holding it open and gesturing for Daphne and Hermione to enter. The four of them stood in the vestibule for a moment, their eyes adjusting to the light. They had entered what looked to be restaurant far more trendy than a pub, but still welcoming. Blaise edged ahead and approached the host, whose eyes widened upon seeing him.

“Uh, Mister Zabini… We weren’t expecting you.”

Blaise shrugged. “Wasn’t planned. I was just in the area. Say, is the back room open?”

“Of course. I take it you’ll be using it.” 

“Thanks. We’ll take a round of full Englishes, if you would. And,” he paused, “a bottle of champagne, I think. Or two.” Blaise gestured to the group to follow and started weaving through the tables.

Draco placed a hand at Hermione’s waist and moved to follow, bending down to whisper in her ear. “You okay, love?”

Hermione slowed for just a moment, leaning into him. “I’m good. Welcome home.”

While the restaurant was fairly busy, Blaise led them into a private room that was far more intimate than the tables in the main room.

“It’ll be much easier to catch up back here.” Blaise explained, as he held out Daphne’s chair.

While the restaurant had been fairly crowded, the champagne arrived just after they sat down, and the waiter set to filling four flutes.

“Wow. Great service.” Hermione complimented.

Blaise grinned, “It’s all about who you know.”

“Well, you must come here often, then.”

“Enough, I guess. It helps to be in the industry. But enough about me.” He changed the subject, raising his glass. “Here’s to my best man finally making it back to London.”

There was a chorus of “Hear, hear” and the clink of glasses. Hermione raised her glass and took a sip. It was good champagne.

Their meals arrived and Draco and Blaise wasted no time before digging in.

Hermione wasn’t sure where to start. Sausage. Eggs. Beans. Toast. Hermione wasn’t sure how she’d even eat half of what was piled on her plate. “All of this? For breakfast?”

Daphne motioned at the boys and laughed, “And they act like they’ve never eaten food before. But yes, it really is standard breakfast fare over here. Although no one actually eats it all the time. Can you imagine?”

Hermione just shook her head.

“So, Hermione, I have to admit, Draco is rather tight-lipped about you, although I’ve heard nothing but good things. I’m glad to have a chance to meet you before things get hectic later this week.” 

“I’m so glad to meet you, too. Thanks for inviting me and making me feel welcome.”

“Please, as I said before, there really is no keeping these two apart. Blaise would have gone all the way to New York to get Draco, if he had taken any longer to arrive. He really misses having him around.”

“You all went to school together at Hogwarts, right?”

“We did. But, in many ways, we also grew up together. I’ve known Draco for my whole life, and Blaise for almost as long.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “Wow. I have no idea what that’s like. My life is in two separate parts — before finding out I was a witch and after, and my mother has been the only constant.”

Daphne gave her a sympathetic look. “I can’t imagine how hard that must be.”

Hermione shrugged. “I’ve been a witch for so long now, I’ve grown accustomed to it. It’s always been just my mom and me, anyways.”

“And she’s a…” Daphne paused. “No-Maj?”

“Right.” Hermione grinned. “What you call Muggles, over here. Draco mutters enough about them from time to time.”

Daphne laughed and glanced over at the boys who were still deeply ensconced in both their conversation and their breakfasts. “So, what has Draco told you about his family?” She leaned in a little closer to Hermione.

Hermione looked puzzled. “Actually, he doesn’t talk about them much. I know they didn’t wholly approve of him coming to New York to do his mastery. But he’s so good with potions. I can’t imagine him studying anywhere else.” She paused. “And then, of course, we wouldn’t have met.”

Daphne sighed. “I was afraid of that. Listen, Hermione, there are some things that you should probably know… “

Whatever Daphne was going to say, Hermione didn’t get to hear it, as they were interrupted by Blaise filling their glasses once again and raising his to begin another round of toasts.

“You first full English, Hermione. Welcome to London! May your visit be everything you want it to be!”

Hermione looked over at Draco. He was beaming, clearly glad to be back around his friends. She was glad to get to see it. Daphne and Blaise had both been so welcoming.

Blaise then turned to Draco, “And, may my stag night be the most memorable one ever!”

“If I have anything to say about it, you know it will be.” Draco grinned, clinking his glass with Blaise’s.

“Boys.” Daphne shook her head and turned back to Hermione, her earlier thought forgotten. “I assume you’ll be joining the party for my hen night? I’d love for you to come.”

“Of course. I’d be happy to.” Hermione responded.

“Excellent. I’ll send over the details once you are settled.”

Blaise started to get up from the table. “Ladies, shall we?”

Hermione looked up. “Oh, what about the check?”

Blaise smiled at her, while extending a hand to Daphne. “Not to worry, Hermione. It’s all taken care of.”

“Oh, but I didn’t see… “ She saw Draco shake his head and stopped. She’d ask what that was for later on. “Well, then, I guess we’re ready. Thank you for breakfast, Blaise.”

“Don’t mention it. I’m just thrilled that I’ve got my best man here with me now.” He patted Draco on the back and led them to the car.

* * *

Theo

Suffolk

Nervous wasn’t a feeling that Theo knew a lot about. Annoyed, yes. Exasperated, sure. He would even lay claim to occasional agitation and worry. But nervous? No, to him, that implied some weakness or defect that could be exploited. And it had been a long time since he had allowed anyone or anything to exert that type of control.

But here he was, pacing back and forth in his drawing room, second guessing his actions. He had woken up with the conviction that today was the day that he would send Potter a reply. After his morning ablutions, he sat at his desk trying to decide what were the appropriate words to convey how utterly unbothered and uninterested he was while still answering in the affirmative. It hadn’t been easy. He ended up offering a short window — they could meet for a drink after the day’s events. It wouldn’t do to seem desperate, he wasn’t. No, he had only let Potter know that if he wanted to catch up, he had a bit of time.

He hadn’t planned on answering at all, but Potter was being annoyingly persistent. Therefore, Theo had decided that if what he needed to achieve some semblance of peace was to go ahead meet with Potter, then he could spare the few minutes that it would take to finally achieve some semblance of closure that would allow him to return to his relatively uncomplicated life.

One drink. Maybe half an hour of his time. It wasn’t much. He sealed the envelope and pressed his signet ring in the warm wax. If nothing else, it should remind Potter who he was dealing with.

But now that his owl had left, Theo found that his affect was not entirely unaffected. And he still had an entire day before him to dwell on how the evening might go. He had been caught off guard in Paris, that’s for sure. The encounter had unsettled him. But, Potter had been rather contrite in his letters, asking for a chance to talk and offering some semblance of an apology for the way he had handled things when they were back in school.

School. It had not been his favorite. Being a Slytherin had been expected, although the Sorting Hat had actually suggested Ravenclaw. At the age of eleven, however, Theo knew that would have not gone over well with his father. Notts belonged in Slytherin. And Notts whose mothers had been Blacks definitely had no business in a different house. Being in Slytherin made some things easy, as he generally knew (or knew of) most of his housemates. There were tangled familial webs between most of them, save for an odd half-blood or two that had been thrown in by the Sorting Hat. And many had grown up together one way or another. Almost everyone was someone’s cousin or child of a parents’ business partner, or perhaps their fathers shared a particular penchant for the Dark Arts. It was all so very insular, but also known, with the overlay of customs and hierarchy particular to the upper echelons of pureblood society, complete with the assignations and machinations that one needed to be aware of or guard against.

Theo had been lucky. Being in the same class as both Draco and Blaise meant that he had a support system that few other Slytherins had, people who he could truly trust. Between that and the lift in his own status from being Malfoy-adjacent, Theo was relatively unbothered by those within his house. Dealing with the other three houses was another issue altogether. It was why the Slytherins took pains to show a unified front to the rest of the school, regardless of what drama might be raging in the dungeons.

The other three houses thought that the students in Slytherin had chips on their shoulders — and they did, but it was the weight of magical society that they were carrying, much of its history and tradition, and most of its wealth. The patronage of their families is what allowed wizarding society to flourish, and each of them was being groomed to fill a position or take a place in the long line of the magical history of Britain. There was little room for choice, let alone personality. Other houses saw the Slytherins as uptight or severe, but instead what they were was burdened under the weight of their families’ expectations and the traditions that they held so near and dear.

And that was what had made it so odd for Theo to find that he was drawn to a Gryffindor, and a half-blood at that. Not that there weren’t purebloods in the other three houses, because there were plenty, but the families in the Sacred 28 were heavily weighted with Slytherins, and as Slytherin was heavily weighted with the expectations and traditions of those families, it was a bit of a vicious cycle. Nor did it matter that Theo had never found girls to be particularly appealing. As the Nott heir, he would be pushed into a loveless marriage with an appropriate spouse where he would be expected to sire the next generation of Notts. He had always known that. His interest was neither considered nor required. However, that didn’t mean that he didn’t have preferences that he was starting to become more aware of.

He couldn’t say he hadn’t noticed Harry — everyone knew who Harry Potter was. But, it wasn’t until the two had been partnered by an overzealous Herbology professor that he had paid any amount of attention to him. Each pair of O.W.L. students had been charged with cataloging the magical plants in different areas around the school over the course of a semester. It was a daunting task and had required spending a great deal of time together, much to the chagrin of their respective friends.

Alone, Theo found that Potter was quieter than one would have expected from a Gryffindor. Perhaps to both of their surprise, the two found that they worked well together. And more than that, Theo felt a different kind of pull towards the other boy who had black hair that always looked like he had just rolled out of bed and green eyes that Theo swore could see inside his soul.

It took Theo a while to work out that he was interested in being more than just Harry’s Herbology partner, although he wasn’t sure what Harry thought and the idea of being rejected terrified him. He didn’t know how to broach the subject, or if he even should. Thankfully, fate had had other ideas. One day, when walking back to the greenhouses, he had tripped and Harry had offered him a hand up. It was never clear whether Theo had tumbled into Harry on purpose or by accident or if Harry had deliberately pulled Theo into him, but all of a sudden the two were kissing and Theo felt like he finally understood what so much of the talk of his peers was about.

Theo took a deep breath. It didn’t do to dwell on the past, when it was just that — in the past. Whether he had sent off the missive without really thinking it through or not was beside the point. Potter would either respond or wouldn’t. And even if he did, he may or may not be available. In any event, it was out of Theo’s hands at this point. He would have to wait and see if anything would come of it, although he still wasn’t sure whether he had a preference on the outcome.

In the meantime, Theo had other things to look forward to — Draco’s arrival for one. He was looking forward to seeing him this evening, even with the havoc that Hermione’s presence was sure to bring. Grand Mère was expecting Theo for dinner, and while she wasn’t technically Theo’s grandmother, he had been around Malfoy Manor long enough that he was expected regularly, and everyone knew that you didn’t piss off the old lady.


	6. The Weasleys/Draco and Blaise/Hermione and Ginny

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FrappuBean - continued thanks for hanging in there. :)

The Weasleys

Ottery St Catchpole

Hermione rolled over, wondering what time it was. She searched for a clock in the room, trying to figure whose side of the bed it was on — not hers. She found her wand and muttered a quick spell. It was 2 o’clock, but was it afternoon or late night? She wasn’t sure. The adrenaline of being in a new place had worn off once they had reached their hotel room and they had both promptly crashed. The shades were drawn, so she had no idea whether the sun was still up or not. She listened to see if she could tell from the noises she could hear, figuring she couldn’t have slept that long. Hearing the faint noise of traffic mingling with Draco’s light snoring, she decided it must be afternoon and slipped from the bed, grabbing her phone.

Their hotel room was almost as big as Draco’s apartment. She couldn’t imagine how much he was spending on it, but Draco had waved it off, explaining that Blaise’s connections carried over to the hotel as well. She left the bedroom and peered out the window, seeing a large park across the street that she had missed on their ride in. Hyde Park. Not as big as Central Park, but stunning nonetheless, and chock full of history.

Her phone buzzed and she hurried to unlock it in case it woke Draco. She glanced down at the screen and grinned. Ginny.

_G: Where are you?? You’re supposed to be here by now!!_

_H: I’m here, I’m here. Sorry, I took a nap._

_G: You can rest when you’re dead. Where are you?_

_H: The Grosvenor Hotel - across from Hyde Park._

_G: Ooh…Muggle London and posh, too. Are you dressed?_

_H: I can be._

_G: Excellent. I can’t wait any longer! I’ll meet you in the lobby in 15._

She tried to be quiet as she rummaged through her bag to find a pair of jeans and a top, but found a sleepy Draco looking at her, as she pulled the top over her head.

“And just where are you off to?”

Hermione loved his gravely, sleep-filled voice. “It’s my friend, Gin. She’s meeting me downstairs in a few minutes.”

“Ah, yes. Well, have a good time. Meet back here around seven to head to dinner?”

“Absolutely. See you then.” She leaned over to kiss him, only for him to pull her onto the bed. It took her several minutes of swatting at him before he let her go with a smack to her backside as she pulled away. “I’ll be back. And besides, don’t you have somewhere to be pretty soon?”

Draco groaned and moved to get up, given Blaise would be coming by to collect him. “Seven o’clock.” He called as she slipped out the door.

Ginny pounced on her as soon as she stepped out of the elevator. “Hermione!” She grabbed her and held her close for several minutes before letting go.

Hermione was thrilled to see her friend. It had been several years since they had seen each other. After Ginny finished at Ilvermorny, she had headed back to Britain. Because Hogwarts was in their backyard, so to speak, it was unusual for British children to attend school in the United States. However, Ginny had switched schools after her first year. It wasn’t something she talked about. In fact, she had been rather quiet and withdrawn when she first started. Although, Hermione was a year ahead of her, she reached out to the young girl, knowing what it was like to have such a big transition in one’s life. Ginny had been thankful for the support and the two had become fast friends, but she didn’t talk about what had caused her to come to Ilvermorny and Hermione had never pressed.

“I know you’re here to see London, but we’re heading to my parents’ for tea. I hope that’s okay. Mum wants to see you.”

“Of course!” Hermione was happy to have a quiet afternoon with Ginny’s family, given she was still trying to adjust to the time change. She had always appreciated the treats that Mrs. Weasley had sent for her daughter and by extension, her. Although the distance was great, Ginny explained that since her dad worked at the British Ministry, he could often find someone traveling for work to ferry her packages across the pond where they could then be attached to an owl for the remainder of the journey.

Hermione looked down at her jeans. “Am I dressed okay?”

Ginny looked askance that Hermione would even suggest that she wasn’t dressed appropriately. “At my parents? Of course.” She pulled Hermione into an alley and stopped abruptly, holding out her hand. “Side-along okay?”

Hermione took her hand and was whisked away.

The two friends landed in a country lane that seemed a world away from London. Up ahead, Hermione could see a little crooked house that looked like it had been magically extended a number of times.

“It’s not much. But it’s home.” Ginny said proudly as she headed for the door.

Hermione grinned. “I think it’s wonderful.”

As they entered, Hermione found the house to be anything but quiet. Ginny’s mother was in the kitchen barking orders to several of her sons who were completing whatever tasks their mother had assigned.

“Oh, Ginny, you’re early. I hadn’t noticed that the clock had changed.” She wiped her hands on her apron and glanced over her shoulder at a most curious clock. Hermione noted that there were a number of hands with faces, including Ginny’s that pointed towards “ _Home,_ ” while a few other hands pointed in different directions.

“Sorry, Mum, I didn’t realize it would be such a production.” She screwed up her face, as her mother embraced her.

“Well, it’s not every day that we have a special guest from America, now, is it?” The woman turned to Hermione with her arms open and embraced her. “Hermione, dear. So good to see you.”

Mrs. Weasley turned back to her daughter. “Now, do me a favor and make sure Ron has set the table. You know he’s hopeless.” Ginny rolled her eyes and gestured for Hermione to follow. “Come on, we’ll see what my brothers are up to.”

“Are they all here?” Hermione’s eyes widened. She had only met Ginny’s parents before, but she knew that she had a lot of brothers, and for some, their reputations preceded them.

“Nah. Charlie is off in Romania. Bill is most likely with his family, as his wife is due to give birth to my next niece or nephew any day now. And Percy so rarely comes around. Probably just some combination of Fred, George and Ron.” Ginny grinned.

“Uh… aren’t Fred and George the ones who own the joke shop?”

“Yes,” Ginny sighed, “but they won’t mess with you if they know what’s good for them. My bat bogey hex is just as wicked as it used to be.” She grinned evilly. “But, to be on the safe side, don’t eat or drink anything they give you.”

Hermione made a mental note. At least they were twins, so it shouldn’t be hard to keep that straight. 

Ginny pulled her through the dining room where the table was indeed, already set, and into a small parlor.

“Gods, I missed you. How are you?” She pulled Hermione in for another hug before sitting. “How’s the old place?”

Hermione exhaled. There was just something about old friends. “It’s good to see you, too, Gin. I’m good. School is good. The Quadpot season isn’t quite the same without you, but we’re managing.” Hermione smiled.

“Ahh…I miss it. But, as you know, my first love was always Quidditch. Plus, much more straightforward to not have things exploding all over the place.”

“So, tell me about your team? Harpies, right?”

Ginny grinned, knowing Hermione’s complete lack of interest in sports, whether Quadpot or Quidditch. “You remembered. It’s great. It’s so much work. We’re always training or on the road. But I absolutely love it.”

They heard Mrs. Weasley call and made their way to the table.

“Hermione, dear. Sit right here. Ginny, introductions?”

Hermione did as she was told, in part to avoid the swirling mass of redheads who had all of a sudden appeared at the table. She smiled warmly at Ginny’s father and each of her brothers in turn. The table was set for a veritable feast.

“Mrs. Weasley, I hope you didn’t go through all this trouble for me.”

“Nonsense, dear. We’re so thrilled to have you with us.” The woman passed her a plate of sandwiches, and Hermione took one which apparently was the signal to have everyone dig in.

Ginny’s father spoke up. “So, Hermione, you’re teaching at Ilvermorny now?”

“Yes, I am. I teach Transfiguration.”

“And how do you find it?”

“I love the subject, but I now have a lot more sympathy for what our own teachers went through.” Hermione laughed.

“At least you didn’t have these two in your class.” Ginny’s brother, Ron, joined in, pointing to her twin brothers. I swear, they were responsible for more mischief and more grey hairs on the heads of their teachers.”

Mrs. Weasley joined in, shaking her head. “The number of notes that we received from Hogwarts for the two of them was more than for all of our other children combined!”

The twins jumped right in, taking turns speaking as if they were sharing their thoughts. “But it all worked out in the end, didn’t it, mum?”

“That was just our early R&D phase.”

“Some of our best products got their start at Hogwarts.”

“Tell her about the portable swamp.” Ginny asked.

“Ahh yes, one of our favorites. A tricky bit of magic, that.”

Ron snorted, “Yeah, because you didn’t know how to get rid of it. We had to avoid that corridor for a month!”

Everyone around the table burst out in laughter. Hermione smiled. It was wonderful to be around such a joyful family. As an only child, she wasn’t often in such family-filled spaces, but the Weasleys were warm and welcoming. She couldn’t help but feel right at home.

Mrs. Weasley turned to Hermione. “So, Ginny tells us you are here with a friend who went to Hogwarts.”

Hermione smiled. “Yes. My boyfriend. We’re here for a wedding.”

Mrs. Weasley smiled warmly. “Oh, that’s nice dear. Now who is getting married?”

“Yeah, I couldn’t work it out. There’s a really big wedding next weekend, but surely…” Ginny’s voice drifted off and she turned her full attention to her friend.

“Blaise Zabini and Daphne Greengrass. Do you know them?”

Ginny gasped, “No way!”

“Do we know them? Uh… there aren’t that many wizards in Britain. They were both in my class at Hogwarts.” Ron chimed in.

“Oh. Well, they picked us up at the airport and took us to breakfast.”

Ron looked surprised. “They what?”

One of the twins chimed in. “See, I told you things were different with the House of Slytherin.”

“Sure. Investments in the Muggle world are one thing, but going to the airport? Is there even an Apparition point near there?” The other twin chimed in.

Hermione was confused. She wasn’t sure why any of it was such a big deal. “Apparition? No, they picked us up in a car. Blaise was driving.”

A series of odd looks were traded around the table, but then Mr. Weasley spoke up. “Oh? A motor car? How fascinating! We used to have one of those.”

Mrs. Weasley shushed him, as if she was worried that he was about to launch into a story that he had told far too many times before.

Ginny shook her head. “I can’t believe you are going to that wedding. It’s supposed to be quite a scene. And you said your boyfriend was a friend of Blaise’s?”

“Yes, he’s one of his best friends.”

Ron chimed in, “Well you’d think he’d have to be to pick him up at the airport, in a Muggle car, no less. What’s his name? We probably know him, too.” He picked up his cup to take a sip.

Hermione smiled, thinking of her beau, “His name is Draco, Draco Malfoy. Do you know him?”

The room fell silent, save for the sound of Ron’s glass falling to the table and shattering.

“Oh, dear,” Molly Weasley said, picking up her wand to clean up the mess while Fred reached over to clap Ron on the back.

“Smooth move, Ronnie.”

* * *

Draco and Blaise

London

The dress robe fitting at Twilfitt and Tattings had only taken a few minutes. Such was the nature of magical tailoring, and Draco’s size hadn’t changed dramatically since his last set of dress robes had been made. He knew that Blaise was anxious to get him alone to let off some steam, so he steered his friend towards one of the less frequented establishments in Knockturn Alley where they wouldn’t be interrupted.

Draco stopped at the bar and asked for a bottle of firewhisky and two glasses before joining Blaise at an empty table in the back. He took out his wand and muttered a few privacy spells before sitting down and pouring them each a glass.

“You okay?” He asked his friend.

Blaise sighed, his head in his hands. “Yes? No? Who knows. You know I hate this shite.”

“I know. But you love her, so you’ll get through it.” Draco sighed. For all his projected confidence and bravado, at heart, Blaise was rather insecure. Draco had known him long enough to know that his feelings stemmed from having been rejected by his own father and the parade of husbands his mother had taken since. He was one of the few people who ever saw this side of Blaise.

“Her mother is driving me batty.”

“As you knew she would.”

Blaise took a deep breath and looked up at his friend. “I can’t believe we’re finally doing this.”

“Yeah, took you long enough.” Draco knocked back the rest of what was in his glass and poured another.

They both knew well that this was the wedding that was never supposed to happen. Love matches weren’t a thing in pureblood circles, particularly for the eldest child. You grew up being steered in one direction or another, being careful to not form strong romantic attachments, because when the time came to settle down, you would be told who had been selected for you, typically the most advantageous or strategic pairing was for both families. But Blaise and Daphne were so well suited for each other, and everyone had remarked what a good match they were. Some thought it was a foregone conclusion that they would be allowed to marry. However, those people were wrong. For the rest, it had been no surprise when the Greengrasses told Daphne that they had secured a match for her with Marcus Flint, a fellow Slytherin who had finished a year ahead of them at Hogwarts.

Blaise knew why. While he was a Pureblood, the name Zabini was not on the list of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, unlike both the Greengrasses and the Flints. Even amongst pureblood circles there were levels of how “in” one was, based on your who your family was. On top of that, Blaise was one of those who had chosen to work outside of the normal channels of his family business. While his coffers were plenty healthy, some of his galleons started out as pounds. In the wake of a muggle recession, Blaise had begun diversifying his family’s holdings, pushing into muggle London. His gamble had paid off handsomely, and he now owned several successful restaurants and hotels throughout London. But somehow, even that success was seen as a mark against him.

For anyone else, it would hardly have been an issue. Wealth was wealth. But Damien Greengrass would have none of it. He had been in business with the Flints for years and his desire was to see his daughter married off to his partner’s son, regardless of his daughter’s wishes. Daphne had been inconsolable but unable to change her father’s mind.

It had been a surprise when Daphne’s younger sister, Astoria, stepped up and said that she would fulfill the contract. It was unusual for a younger daughter to marry first, but it was likely a better match than Astoria would have made on her own. While a second daughter wouldn’t inherit nearly as much, she would typically have had more latitude in who she chose to marry. Daphne knew her sister was making a strategic move to secure her own future, while simultaneously saving Daphne’s. Marcus Flint had no problem turning his attention towards the younger Greengrass, and once they were married, Blaise was able to formally request Daphne’s hand.

Sadly, that hadn’t been the end of it. Mr. Greengrass still planned to make Blaise jump through a number of hoops to secure the engagement. Among other things, Blaise had had to pay a hefty bride price which had served to fatten up the Greengrass estate. He didn’t care. It wasn’t as if he would miss the galleons. What was more important was that he and Daphne could marry at last.

And then came the wedding planning. Cassandra Greengrass knew that Blaise was anxious to see this through and would agree to nearly anything, so she set out to make this wedding a spectacle. It would surely be an event to remember, assuming Blaise made it down the aisle.

“Daph and I should have just run off and got married. To hell with all of this.”

Draco laughed. He knew that as much as Blaise groused about it, he also wanted Daphne to have the wedding that she wanted. The perfect dress. The flowers. The bridesmaids to _ooh_ and _ahh_ over her. The hand fasting and family blessing to help ensure a successful marriage. While Daphne had been willing to wait for Blaise to satisfy her father’s conditions, there were some things she wouldn’t be willing to compromise on. At heart, Daphne was a pureblood woman who had been raised with certain expectations and needed to ensure that her position in society wouldn’t bear the black mark that the scandal of an elopement would carry. Blaise had always known the wedding that he would be subject to by tying himself to Daphne.

Draco didn’t need to say a thing because they both knew how it worked.

Blaise looked up from his glass. “And what about you? Did Hermione enjoy herself?”

“She did. She enjoyed meeting you both.”

“Yeah. I like her, Draco. Daph did too — and you know she can be a little reserved when meeting new people.”

“I’m relieved. I’m glad you had a chance to meet her before things get crazy.Uh… crazier.”

“Had to. Besides, now that all the gossip is about you right now, it’s taken some of the pressure off of me. Thanks for that.”

Draco looked puzzled. “What do you mean?”

Blaise shook his head. “You can’t be serious. You’re finally home after what, two years? Not only that, you brought your girlfriend home with you — an American girlfriend. And based on the fact that they've never heard of her, most have assumed she’s a muggle-born. You, of all people, Draco, are dating a muggle-born. Surely you see the irony in that. You know people need something to talk about.”

“Me of all people?” Draco frowned.

Blaise put his hands up. “Hey, I’m just the messenger. You know I have no problem with who you date. But I’m sure not everyone feels the same way. What has your family said about all this?”

“To be honest, they’ve been the furthest thing from my mind.”

Blaise raised an eyebrow.

“Okay. That’s not entirely true. I’m sure my mother won’t be thrilled, but I think I’ve done enough to make clear that _I_ decide how I want to live my life.”

“And what does Hermione think about that?”

Draco looked sheepish. “Well, we haven’t exactly discussed it yet.”

“You haven’t what? Draco, what are you doing?” Blaise was incredulous.

“Theo said the same thing a couple weeks ago.” Draco sighed. “It’s just… Would you understand if I told you that it’s been really nice to just be me, and not have to worry about being the scion of House Malfoy for a while?”

“Yeah, I can see that. But the fact remains, you’re not in America any longer. And here, like it or not, you _are_ the princeling.”

Blaise laughed at the face Draco made. He was not amused.

“So you’ve been off living the life of a poor potioneer all this time and Hermione has no idea who you really are?”

“What are you talking about? I really am a potions student. And I live within my means. Just because my family has money, doesn’t mean that I do.”

“Oh, Draco, Draco. Cut the shite. I’m sure your own vaults are just fine. And as we both know, you are the _only_ Malfoy heir which means that all of the Malfoy money will someday be yours. Every sickle, knut and galleon.”

Draco leaned forward. “And Hermione doesn’t care about that at all. She is completely down to earth. She loves me for who I am, not what I have.”

Blaise threw his arms in the air. “What world are you living in? This has nothing to do with Hermione and how she feels about you, my short-sighted friend. In New York, you may be able to stick your head in the sand for as long as you like. But now you are here - in Britain - where there are any number of pureblood women and their mothers who won’t exactly be thrilled that it looks like you are planning to outsource the role of the next Malfoy wife.”

Draco interrupted. “Hermione and I haven’t even talked about marriage.”

Blaise was unmoved. “My point precisely. And still, you’ve brought her here with you when you know we don’t date. You know how this works. You can shag whoever you want, but when it comes to marriage, all bets are off. Do you really think your mother or Posy Parkinson or anyone of them cares that you may have actual feelings for Hermione? Be honest with yourself, Draco. You haven’t been out of the snake pit that long.”

“Fuck.” Draco sat back.

“Yeah, that’s about right. I mean I love Daph, but she’s not a vault. You’re kidding yourself if you don’t think that Pansy hasn’t already wormed every detail out of her and is making plans accordingly. And you’re not doing Hermione any favors by keeping her in the dark. If you have an interest in any kind of future with Hermione, you need to let her in on what she is dealing with.”

“Ugh. You’re right. When Theo said I was throwing her two the wolves, I thought he was exaggerating. Pansy hadn’t crossed my mind.”

“Snakes, Draco. Not wolves. At least you can hear a wolfpack howling in the distance and know that they are near. With snakes, they coil around you so easily and comfortably that you don’t even realize you’re in danger until you can no longer breathe.”

* * *

Hermione and Ginny

Ottery St Catchpole

After Hermione’s announcement effectively brought the conversation to a halt, Ginny had dragged Hermione from the table and up the stairs to what looked to be her old bedroom. Hermione looked around and smiled seeing the familiar marks of their Ilvermorny house, Wampus, along with a number of quidditch posters.

Ginny, however, was not so easily distracted by the nostalgia. “All this time you’ve been dating Draco Malfoy and I’m just now finding out about this?"

“Gin. I’m sorry. I don’t understand everyone’s reaction.”

Ginny threw her hands up in exasperation and started pacing in the small room. “How do I explain this? Hermione, the Malfoys are like British wizarding royalty — or at least that’s how those who are constantly trying to curry favor treat them. They’re _incredibly_ wealthy and well-connected. Every year they host a massive New Year’s Ball for the wizarding community. It’s quite something to get an invitation. And if you do, you go.”

She stopped and sat on the bed next to her friend. “The boys can tell you more, of course, but Malfoy always acted like a little princeling at school. So you’ve heard about the four houses at Hogwarts?”

“Sure.”

“Slytherin House is where a lot of the traditional pureblood families are placed. I know it’s not an issue at Ilvermorny, but over here, there are still some people that put a great deal of stock in someone’s heritage. And Draco Malfoy was a Slytherin, from one of the oldest and most traditional families. Understand?”

Ginny paused, but then lowered her voice. “I know I don’t talk about this much, but when everything happened with me, you know, the reason I left Hogwarts, Malfoy was one of those that we thought could have been involved. It turned out that he wasn’t, but given my family is full of Gryffindors, there’s no love lost between us and the Slytherins.”

Hermione was stunned, trying to reconcile this version of Draco with the one she knew.

Ginny shook her head. “Wow. I had heard rumours that some of the younger Slytherins were following a different path than their parents, but this is huge.”

Hermione frowned, trying to make sense of it all and wondering why Ginny was the one telling her this.“I'm at a loss. To me, he’s just Draco. That’s who he’s always been. He doesn’t talk about his family much, but he’s never been anything less than wonderful to me.”

“And he knows your mum’s a No-Maj?”

“Ginny, he’s met my mum, been to her home, and loves her cooking. He very much knows she’s a No-Maj. Why would I hide that?”

“Whoa.”

The two sat in silence for a few moments, until Hermione jumped, hearing a notification buzz on her phone. She reached into her purse and pulled it out.

_Love, something came up and I’m running late. Won’t make it back to the hotel on time. Need you to meet me at dinner, if that’s okay._

She texted back. _Okay. Just tell me where to meet you._

_We’re having dinner at my Grand Mère’s. Can your friend Apparate you to Malfoy Manor? I’ll meet you there._

“You’re having dinner at the Manor? Tonight?” Ginny was leaning over and peeking at her phone, her eyes wide. “Tell him I can make sure you get there.”

_Yes, she’ll bring me. Will see you there at 7._

_Perfect. Please thank her for me. Will see you soon. XO_

Ginny broke into laughter. “Draco Malfoy just sent you a text that ended with hugs and kisses. I’ve now seen it all.”

Hermione put her phone down. “I don’t get it, Gin.”

Ginny grinned at her friend and suddenly stood. “You’re having dinner at the Manor, Hermione! Don’t worry, if you don’t get it now, you will. But, first, we have work to do to make sure you are Manor-ready. Thank Merlin you’re here with me!”

She pulled Hermione downstairs, calling for her mother. “Mum! I’ve got to go. Hermione is going to Malfoy Manor for dinner.”

Molly Weasley came bustling out of the kitchen, wiping her hands. She stopped and looked at Hermione. “Tonight? You can’t be serious? Oh, Ginny. This will never do.”

Hermione frowned. “I wasn’t going to go like this. I have a dress.”

Mrs. Weasley waved her hand. “No, no dear. You don’t understand. This takes a different level of readiness. One that you probably wouldn’t realize. Not to worry. Ginny will help you get ready.”

She pushed the girls towards the Floo. “Oh! She can borrow Aunt Muriel’s pearls! You’ve already got them, yes?”

Ginny nodded, grabbing a handful of Floo powder and calling out for her apartment.

As soon as they landed, Ginny marched off and Hermione reluctantly followed. She found Ginny in the back of her closet, sliding hangers aside and talking to herself. “No. No. Maybe.” She stopped to toss a dress onto the bed. She paused again, considering one and pulled it from the rack. “Hmm.” She held it towards Hermione, but apparently didn’t like what she saw. “No.” By the time she was finished, there were several choices on the bed, all of which Hermione thought were way too formal for a small family dinner.

Ginny threw her a robe. “Go shower. We’ll have to transfigure the rest, but one of these should work.”

“Gin. Wait. I don’t understand all the fuss. It’s just dinner.”

“Except dinner at a manor is never just dinner, and dinner at Malfoy Manor is on a whole different level. You’ve got to trust me on this. We don’t have time for me to explain everything. Would I steer you wrong?”

Hermione took a breath. No, she knew Ginny wouldn’t mislead her.

She stood in the shower and let the hot water run over her for quite some time. She was so confused and wanted to talk to Draco and sort it through, but he had said he was busy. Ginny was making this far more complicated than Hermione thought it needed to be. Dress robes for a family dinner? She’d look ridiculous showing up in such a thing. She had a sundress and cardigan that would have worked perfectly, but Ginny wouldn’t even entertain the notion.

More concerning was that Draco hadn’t said anything about any of this. She had been concerned that Draco might be embarrassed because his family had limited means, when the exact opposite was true. She kicked herself. No wonder he wasn’t worried about the cost of the hotel or the upgrade on their airline tickets. No wonder he always treated her when they went out.

She was realizing that there was more to the man that she was dating than she knew.

A rap on the door brought her out of her reverie and she turned off the water and toweled off. As soon as she opened the door, Ginny was ready to pounce. “Sit here.” She commanded, pointing to a chair that hadn’t been there earlier. Hermione complied.

Ginny was a dab hand at beauty charms, far better than Hermione, who had never been bothered to learn much more than a basic shaving charm. By the time she was done, Hermione felt as if she had had a full spa treatment, having been thoroughly plucked, polished, and painted. Ginny spent extra time taming Hermione’s wild curls into a style with half her hair pinned up and the rest hanging down in careful spirals. Hermione wasn’t sure she had ever taken so much time getting ready for something before.

As Ginny worked, she talked, trying to impart as much wisdom as she could on her friend.

“Now, when you get there, don’t mind the peacocks.”

“ _Peacocks_?”

“Oh, not just any peacocks, my dear. These are albino peacocks. The Malfoys don’t do anything by halves. Now, they may be noisy, but they won’t bother you. They scared the crap out of Ron the first time he saw them. Hilarious. And, we need to make sure you have a bite to eat before you leave. Who knows what time they’ll get around to serving dinner.”

“But, I’m to be there at 7.”

“Which means nothing. And, if you meet Lady Malfoy, make sure you curtsy. Do you know how to curtsy?”

Hermione was aghast. “Why would I need to do that?”

Ginny didn’t look amused, “Hermione, you’ll need to curtsy.”

Hermione sighed and filed the information away for later.

Ginny fastened a triple strand of pearls around Hermione’s neck and handed her a matching set of earrings to put on. “These are my Aunt Muriel’s. Hopefully you won’t run into her, because if you do, she’ll wonder what you are doing in her jewelry.”

“It’s only a family dinner.”

“I know you keep saying that, but that won’t make it so. Now turn around and take a look.”

Hermione swiveled in the chair and her mouth fell open.

“I tried to keep your face as natural as possible, given I know you don’t love make up, but it’s a little more evening glam. What do you think?”

Hermione was speechless, staring at her reflection. She definitely looked like herself, but also far more polished. 

“I’m glad you approve. First impressions are everything, and you will knock their socks off.” Ginny grinned. “Now, I’ve narrowed it down to two dresses. You pick.”

Hermione ended up in a midnight blue chiffon dress that only needed a little altering to fit her. She then donned a matching pair of heels. She still felt it was too much, but Ginny was insistent. She figured that she could always pop back to the hotel and change, once she knew where she was going.

At five before the hour, the two were preparing to Apparate when Ginny stopped and turned to face her friend. “Before we go. I have two requests. First, you have to let me know how it goes. I want a full report.”

Hermione nodded.

“And second, you need to close your eyes.”

Hermione scowled. “Is that really necessary?”

“Of course not, but consider it payback for all my efforts today. This will make a better memory for the Pensieve someday.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, “You’re awful, Gin.” But she relented. “Fine. Let’s go.”

Ginny laughed. “Okay. Just remember, I want _all_ the details.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so dear readers, we have come to the end of Part 1. I may take a week off of the regular posting schedule next week before we dive into Part 2. Not sure yet, but if I do, I'm working to make sure you have a replacement fix -- just a little vignette that popped up while writing. Hopefully it will be ready to share. 
> 
> Stay tuned for Part 2 featuring plenty of purebloods, Parkinsons and posturing. There's a lot of ground to cover! Thanks for sticking with me.


	7. The Weasleys/Hermione and Draco

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now, on to Part 2 of our story. Thank you for your patience! Alpha/Beta thanks to FrappuBean and ElleHart.
> 
> Because this section starts to fill out some of the family dynamics, I made family trees to help you keep things straight. Sorry for the size of the font. (I tried.)
> 
> If interested, you can find them here:  
> [The Malfoys](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1km4IriRoZicjyuAMMQlhx0zQjfojpMZJ/view?usp=sharing)
> 
> [The Blacks](https://drive.google.com/file/d/19w7-zMfw1lCCLeqLVNWQXd4nHefmynpR/view?usp=sharing)
> 
> [The Others](https://drive.google.com/file/d/1LY-hBRNJ43YdfPaAm2WrhQHdfRcdSeXj/view?usp=sharing)

The Weasleys

Ottery St. Catchpole

Ginny stayed for a moment, just long enough to see Hermione’s reaction when she opened her eyes. It did not disappoint.

“Welcome to Malfoy Manor, Hermione.”

“You’re joking, right?”

It was hard for Ginny to send her friend on her way without saying “I told you so,” but she gave her a quick hug and Disapparated without another word. Hermione already had enough on her plate.

Instead of heading back to her apartment, Ginny returned to her parents’ house, knowing her mother would want a full report. She preferred to give it in person, rather than providing Molly Weasley an excuse to show up in her Floo.

The house was warm and cozy. She found her parents and brothers much as she had last seen them, seated around the table enjoying her mother’s cooking, only this time dinner was being served. She took her seat and grabbed a plate.

“Did everything go okay?” Her mother looked up.

“Yeah, I just dropped her at the gate.”

Her youngest brother turned up his face.

“You just left her there?”

Ginny ignored him and started serving herself. Her brother could be a bit opinionated, especially where Slytherins were concerned.

Her mother, however, was all too happy to indulge Ron.

“What do you mean? What else would she do?”

Fred and George both hung their heads, knowing how this would go. Give Ron an inch and he’d take a mile.

“With _those_ people?”

Ron looked around the table to see if anyone else would join in. Ginny knew that he and Draco Malfoy had had their share of run-ins while at Hogwarts, but people changed. Matured. Grew up. If Hermione saw something in Draco, she wasn’t going to second guess it. Just the fact that Malfoy was seeing Hermione spoke volumes to the fact that he was not the same boy Ron had known.

It was Fred who decided to take the bait.

“As I was mentioning before, several of the Slytherins are rather different than they were at school, at least with regard to muggles and the muggle world.”

“And how would you know that?” Ron spat.

“Because I do business with them. And I keep an open mind. You know Angie works with Blaise Zabini, right? Well, most of her work is in muggle London, and she talks about how Blaise is right beside her getting involved in the projects. He knows his stuff. And the couple times we’ve had occasion to be in the same place, Zabini has seemed like an alright guy. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure there are plenty of Slytherins that can still be poncy purebloods, but I don’t think they all have the type of disdain for muggles or muggle-borns that their parents did.”

“ _Do_.” Ron corrected.

“You know the Malfoys are large donors to a number of charities — both wizarding and muggle,” Fred retorted.

“So they can keep up appearances.”

Ron would not even consider the point.

Fred shrugged his shoulders.

“Clearly you’ve got a thing against Malfoy. You’ve made it plain. But life is simply too short to be bogged down by hatred and prejudice, especially when based in the schoolyard. You’re out of Hogwarts, ickle Ronniekins. Grow up.”

Ron’s face turned red, but he remained silent.

It was Arthur who spoke up, bringing conversation on the matter to a close.

“In any event, it sounds like there may be more to the young master Malfoy than there was before. That’s a good thing. People are allowed to grow. However, Ron has a point. Although he may have changed, that doesn’t mean all those around him have. Ginny, I think Hermione will continue to need your help.”

Almost every head at the table nodded in agreement, with Ginny wondering just how her friend was faring at Malfoy Manor.

* * *

Hermione and Draco

Wiltshire

Hermione stepped carefully down the well-manicured path. She was still a little in shock. Ginny had left her at the gate, Disapparating away after she took her hand and gently shut Hermione’s jaw. Ginny had definitely been right. There was no way that this was a simple family dinner. As she walked closer to the house — if one could even call it that, she saw that there were a number of people already inside and she could faintly hear music playing.

There was an odd noise on her left and she stilled. Turning her head to the side, she saw a white peacock strutting across the lawn with its tail displayed, just like Ginny had mentioned.

 _Where in the actual fuck am I_? She thought. _And who are these people?_ She shook her head to clear her thoughts and continued her walk up the lane.

As she reached the door, it opened to reveal an elf dressed in a smart jacket emblazoned with an M. Beyond the door, she could see a large entrance hall, which reminded her more of a hotel lobby than any foyer she had ever seen. There was a table in the center of the room with an enormous flower arrangement with what appeared to be thousands of different blossoms. She wondered how it could be real, but realized quickly that in a house like this, of course, those would be real flowers. Behind the flowers, Hermione could see a grand staircase that led to the second floor.

The elf cleared his throat. “And you is being?”

Hermione wasn’t sure if she should bend down to speak with the elf or not, so she stood awkwardly and responded, “Hello. I’m Hermione Granger. I’m looking for Draco Malfoy.”

The elf did not look impressed.

Thankfully, Draco appeared at that moment. She noted he looked rather dashing in his dress robes. From the set of his jaw, he looked rather anxious, but his face broke into a smile when he saw her at the door. Hermione was glad that Ginny had helped her get ready. Draco hadn’t said anything about a formal dinner — or about any of this, she thought as she looked around her. However, she’d have to save the interrogation for when they were alone. For now, she could smile and pretend that this wasn’t the weirdest thing to happen to her.

“There you are.” He sighed in relief. “My apologies that I wasn’t able to meet you earlier.”

He slipped an arm around her waist and guided her away from the scowling elf at the door.

He leaned in. “I’m so sorry about this. I was expecting a quiet dinner, but apparently Grand-Mère was already planning to entertain.” 

“Draco, this is where your grandmother lives?”

“Well, technically, Malfoy Manor is the seat of the Malfoy family, but yes, this is where she lives.”

“And your parents, too? Is this where you grew up?”

Hermione tried to not look shocked, but she felt her eyebrows creeping upwards.

“Well, yes and no. My parents have their own home in London, but I was born here and lived here when I was young.”

Hermione took in all the details she could as Draco led her from the foyer. The manor looked more like a museum. Every wall along the way was covered in art of some kind, either intricate tapestries or portraits that stared down at them as they walked. She had so many questions for Draco, but it wasn’t the time or place. The voices grew louder in the direction they were walking, and Draco pivoted to enter a large open room.

An elf passed by with a tray of champagne and Draco took two glasses, passing one to Hermione. She heard him mutter, “Liquid courage,” as he emptied the glass.

“Draco, are you okay?”

“Yes, yes. Of course. It’s just that I’ve been away for a while and I’ve forgotten how tedious these things can be.”

At that moment, a rather elegant woman approached them. “Draco, darling. You’re here. Welcome home.”

“Aunt Andromeda, it’s good to see you.”

He leaned in as if to kiss her cheek, but instead got caught in her embrace.

“Now, now. None of that, dear nephew. No formalities with me. And who do we have here?”

“My dear aunt, let me introduce you to my girlfriend, Hermione Granger.”

“Ah…the American.” The woman smiled warmly. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Hermione.”

She turned back to her nephew. “Your mother, is she in attendance this evening?”

Draco gave his aunt a look.

“You know she’s not. She wouldn’t come for something like this.”

Andromeda laughed. “Of course.” She turned to Hermione, “And have you already met my sister?”

Hermione looked confused.

“Aunt Andromeda is my mother’s sister.” Draco explained.

“Um, no. I haven’t yet.” Hermione looked to Draco, unsure what she should say.

Draco filled in.

“We’ve just arrived. We’ve barely had time to adjust to the time change. And, as you know, I’m here for the wedding, so we’ll get around to seeing them at some point. You know Mother is always busy with one thing or another.”

Andromeda looked amused.

“Indeed, she is. Draco, you’ll have to bring Hermione by for tea, so we can catch up.”

“I’d be happy to, if our schedule allows. Say, is Dora here?”

“She’s around here somewhere. I’ll tell her to come find you.”

Andromeda took her leave. Hermione noted that the woman was effortlessly elegant, but her interest in her nephew seemed genuine.

Draco leaned in conspiratorially, “My mother has two sisters — that’s the one I like.” 

Hermione filed the information away for later.

As they moved further into the room, a number of people approached them, or Draco would stop to greet someone and introduce Hermione. There were far too many names for Hermione to keep track of, but she did her best to keep smiling. There wasn’t any shaking of hands. No, as she was introduced, the men took her hand and lightly touched it to their lips, but upon being introduced to the women, who were all too happy to touch cheeks with Draco, each would step back and regard Hermione with a discerning eye, as if they were trying to figure something out.

After the third such encounter, Hermione whispered, “Am I doing something wrong?”

“No, you’re fine, love.”

He planted a kiss on her temple and manoeuvered her towards the other side of the room where the doors to the terrace were open.

“There’s my grandmother, let me introduce you while things are still quiet.”

Hermione looked around. “This is quiet?”

He chuckled. “Relatively speaking.”

They stood off to the side as two older women sat chatting with each other. Both of the women were impeccably dressed. One was effortlessly stunning, wearing a flattering set of aubergine dress robes with her hair done in an elegant chignon. The other woman’s robes were a rich emerald green. Both women stood out, not only for their refinement, but also their simplicity. Unlike others in the room, neither was dripping in jewelry or make up. Indeed the two seemed far more interested in their own conversation than anything going on in the room around them.

Eventually, the woman in aubergine looked up and saw Draco waiting patiently. She smiled and held up a hand to pause her conversation.

Draco took this as his cue to step closer.

He first turned to the other woman, “Please excuse the interruption, Mrs. Longbottom. It’s a pleasure to see you.” The woman in green smiled at him.

He then turned his attention to the other woman. “Grand-Mère, may I introduce my friend, Hermione Granger.”

Hermione looked down and gave a small curtsy.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Malfoy.You have a lovely home.”

The woman gave Hermione a small nod of acknowledgement and then resumed her conversation, and Draco led Hermione out the doors and onto the terrace.

“What was that?”” Hermione asked.

“Hmm? What?”

Whether Draco was distracted or clueless, she wasn’t sure.

“With your grandmother.”

“Oh, that was nothing. She’s entertaining right now, so there’s not really a chance to talk. I’m sure we’ll spend time with her later.”

Hermione didn’t have time to process that statement, as she heard a familiar voice call out. “Here you are!”

She was relieved to see Theo walking towards them, someone she already knew, instead of another name to try and remember.

“Finally.”

He kissed Hermione and grabbed Draco in a hug.

“I was beginning to think you weren’t coming.”

Draco clapped his cousin on the back.

“It took a while to work our way through the room.”

“I bet. Say, why don’t you find us some real drinks. I’ve got her.”

He grinned conspiratorially while turning Draco back around in the direction of the bar.

Once Draco was out of sight, Theo turned to Hermione and clapped his hands together.

“So, how is it so far? Your first posh party at the estate?”

“Can I be honest, Theo?”

“I would expect nothing less.”

“I’m a little overwhelmed,” she began as she looked at everything around them, the people at the party, as well as the massive house and the gardens beyond. “This is all a surprise to me, and I’m not quite sure what to make of it.”

Theo sighed. He took her arm and led her towards a quieter spot on the terrace, away from listening ears.

“I was worried about that, Hermione. I told him he needed to prepare you for this.”

“I’m not even sure I know what _this_ even is.” She flung her arms wide, as she tried to reconcile what she knew about her boyfriend with what she had seen this evening.

“Well, the good thing is now you’ll have plenty to talk about.” Theo grinned. “Don’t kill him. I’m sure he has his reasons for not saying anything. And, you know he adores you.”

Hermione sighed. “At least there’s that.” 

A black-haired man sporting a shiny silver dinner jacket, rather than dress robes, walked over to them.

“Uncle.”

Theo greeted the man with a nod of his head.

“Theodore.”

The man replied with a smirk. He then turned to Hermione and raised an eyebrow expectantly, “And let me guess, this lovely creature must be Hermione Granger.” 

“She is.” Theo responded.

The man took her hand and brought it to his lips.

“Your reputation precedes you, Miss Granger.”

It was Hermione’s turn to raise her eyebrow.

“And you are?”

“Sirius Black, at your service, miss.”

He gave a flourish and bowed, grinning as he straightened up. Theo rolled his eyes.

“I see. And what about my reputation?” Hermione raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, I was just listening to the chatter. It’s not often we see new people around here. Everyone has been wondering who the lovely woman on Draco’s arm was.”

Hermione wasn’t sure how she felt about that, but as she looked behind Sirius, she saw a group of women who appeared to be looking in her direction and whispering.

Sirius glanced over his shoulder and then leaned in.

“Careful. Those are spies for the other side.”

“Excuse me?”

“See the woman in the burgundy?”

Hermione nodded, catching the eye of the rather severe-looking woman that had been pointed out to her and she hurriedly dropped her gaze.

“No, no. Don’t look right at her.” Sirius tutted.

He placed Theo in front of the two of them, although the woman was still visible over Theo’s shoulder.

“There, now we can look strategically, and not be quite so noticeable. As I was saying, that is Celeste Rosier, and she’s a good friend of Draco’s mother. Unlike others here this evening, she’s only here to see _you_.”

“Why?”

Theo chuckled.

Sirius looked askance.

“Oh, did Draco not bring you up to speed?”

Theo tsked and shook his head.

“What? Well this won’t do. But no matter, I’m sure you’re a quick study. You’ll catch on. You know what they say about sharks when there is blood in the water?”

“Yes?” Hermione answered hesitantly.

“Consider me your life raft.”

Theo laughed and announced that he was going to rescue Draco from whatever conversation he had gotten stuck in, leaving Hermione with her new conversation partner.

“And you’re Theo’s uncle?”

“Well, that’s more of an honorific. Technically, I’m his second cousin, Draco’s as well. My father was the sibling of Narcissa’s father, and his other brother was Theo’s grandfather.”

“That’s very convoluted.” Hermione shook her head.

Sirius chuckled, “Oh no. That’s rather straightforward for pureblood society. It gets much more complicated than that.”

“Is everyone here related?”

He glanced around the terrace and the room beyond it.

“In some form or fashion, most. But, that’s to be expected in a crowd like this.”

“Like what? Are they all Sacred Twenty-Eight?”

“Ah, so you do know a little something.” Sirius’s eyes flashed. “Who told you that?”

“My friend Ginny was explaining a bit to me this afternoon, but to be honest, I didn’t take it seriously. I thought she was over-reacting.”

“Ginny Weasley? Lovely redhead, excellent on a broom. Ah yes, she did take a turn in the States, didn’t she?”

It seemed like a rhetorical question, so Hermione didn’t respond.

“Well, that’s good that someone told you something. So, let me try to fill in the gaps for you. I’ve heard you Americans are all about equality and whatnot. But here on this side of the pond, we don’t necessarily do things the same way. Instead, there are those of us who still cling to certain ideas of superiority — that one’s magical lineage is important. That it means something to be a pureblood. That perhaps it elevates you over those who aren’t.” Sirius frowned at this last part.

“It sounds like you don’t put much stock in such things.”

He chuckled.

“Whatever gave you that idea? No, I can’t say I’m much of a fan of those who try to kid themselves that their proverbial shite doesn’t stink solely because of the nature of their birth. Fortunately, there are plenty of us who put very little stock in that, but around these parts, particularly in this room, there are many who do. And because of this, those of muggle parentage have had a harder time in our society.”

Hermione looked around, wondering if the odd looks and behavior she had noticed was because people knew she wasn’t a pureblood.

“That seems incredibly elitist and short-sighted, let alone just plain wrong.

“Well, that’s just it. I know that, and you know that, and to be honest, they know that, too. At least the idea that muggle-borns have stolen someone else’s magic or that anyone’s blood is a different color because of their parentage seems to have faded away.”

“You can’t be serious. People didn’t actually believe that.”

Hermione gave a half-laugh and turned from considering at the others on the terrace to look at Sirius. He did not appear to be joking.

“Nowadays, it’s more about preserving wealth and consolidating power. While there are plenty of purebloods and half-bloods, the families in the Sacred Twenty-Eight are like the muggle landed gentry — with most of them living off of ancestral wealth and on estates, some of which date back to this country’s earliest days. There’s a lot of history and tradition in this room.”

Hermione nodded, taking it all in.

“And at the center of it all are the Malfoys — one of the oldest and most influential families, and definitely the wealthiest. So, you can imagine how your presence on the Malfoy scion’s arm has turned a few heads.”

“This is all a surprise to me. I had no idea.”

“Clearly.” Sirius readily agreed. “But times change and people with them. Many in the younger generation don’t put the same stock in the traditions of their parents. Sure, there are some vestiges that remain — acceptance of arranged marriages, for example.” He leveled his gaze at Hermione. “But, with everything that has happened, at least some of the prejudices seem to be falling away.”

“Everything that happened? What do you mean?”

Sirius sighed and dropped his voice.

“Oh, psychotic sycophant tries to take over the magical world. You know, similar to the whole thing with Grindelwald. Yes, not content to let others have all the fun, we tried that over here, too. But, true to our nature, it’s behind us and we don’t talk about it in polite company, especially since a number of the families in this room were involved with said sycophant. Not that you heard that from me.”

“So, why tell me all of this? What’s in it for you?”

Hermione decided she was more curious about Sirius’s motivations at this point. She appreciated his openness, but she wasn’t sure what she should make of it.

He chuckled. “My dear, they’ll make a Slytherin out of you yet. If you haven’t been able to tell, I couldn’t care less about most of these people and their ridiculous airs. And I certainly wouldn’t trust them. But, I am quite partial to the old lady and the people she holds dear, particularly my nephews.”

He paused to gather his thoughts.

“You see, my mother and Lady Malfoy were close friends. And even when my own family wasn’t quite so happy with me, she always looked out for me. Still does, in fact. So no, there’s nothing in it for me, other than the fact that you seem to make my nephew happy, and your very presence is causing a stir, which of course makes everything far more entertaining. I’m quite happy for you to stick around as long as possible, which means, you need to be prepared.”

He held out his arm to her.

“Now, those boys have been long enough and I’m getting hungry. Let’s go find something to snack on, shall we?”

As they walked, Sirius continued to talk, pointing out relationships in the different groups scattered around the room.

“They’re business partners, but he’s sleeping with his wife.”

“Those are Burkes. They’re on the prowl for a spouse for their daughter. Sadly, their fortune is not big enough to convince anyone to marry her. Poor girl has such unfortunate looks and doesn’t have strong magic.”

“Ahh, that’s a Longbottom. Pleasant fellow. Neville teaches at Hogwarts. You should be introduced.”

“Ugh. One of the Carrows. Twins run in their family. That one you should steer clear of, but her younger nieces are quite lovely.”

Hermione stopped him.

“How do you keep track of all of this?”

Sirius rolled his eyes.

“As I said, it’s a small crowd. When you are around the same families all the time, you get to know them intimately. But more importantly, with these people, information is power and that is a currency that _anyone_ can wield.”

He gave Hermione a pointed look.

She nodded in understanding. Thankfully, she and Draco wouldn’t be in England for long. She had no interest in figuring out how to navigate the tangled webs that Sirius had pointed out. However, she had plenty to say to Draco about her introduction to British magical society.


	8. Hermione and Draco/Theo and Harry

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It takes a village. Many thanks to FrappuBean, ElleHart and FandomFairytales for the Alpha, Beta, and Britpicking assistance. Any remaining errors are my own.

Hermione and Draco

Wiltshire

Hermione walked beside her new acquaintance, Sirius, as he led her inside, pointing out the portraits that lined the walls and other items as they walked. The manor was truly grand. She wondered what it must have been like to grow up here, living in what looked to be more of a museum than a home.

They hadn’t found Draco yet, but she was content with her current conversation partner. While she still wasn’t certain of his motives, she appreciated that he was liberal with his information, and they had discovered a veritable feast spread out in the dining room.

“So, I met Draco’s aunt earlier, but his mother isn’t here… Although you said her friend was.” Hermione hoped he would pick up on her thought without having to be more specific.

“Ah, yes. I was wondering when we would return to that.” He put his plate down and turned to face her. “Let me give you a brief history of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black.”

Such a long and convoluted moniker. Hermione couldn’t help but chuckle, but stopped when Sirius gave her a look.

“I assure you, Miss Granger, the Black family has always taken themselves _quite_ seriously. No pun intended, of course.” The corner of his mouth turned up. “Of the families in the Sacred Twenty-Eight, the Blacks rival anyone in their efforts to maintain blood purity and uphold pureblood traditions. However, it’s one of the reasons there are so few of us left.”

Hermione looked puzzled.

“Daughters, or rather witches; the blessing and curse of every pureblood family, especially mine. Let me explain.” Sirius paused momentarily, collecting his thoughts.

“The Black Family has been fairly consistent in ensuring that they only marry within the Sacred Twenty-Eight. Of course, there are plenty of other purebloods, but the Blacks have been particular in their selection of spouses. As a result, nearly every family in the Sacred Twenty-Eight currently has some relation to the Blacks, even those one may not think of. Of course, these names don’t mean much to you now, but if you stick around, you’ll hear them. Yaxley. Crouch. Bulstrode. Even Prewett and Longbottom, who I pointed out before. When a son gets married, the family lives on. The estate is passed down, and the generational wealth along with it; but, with daughters, it’s not that simple.”

Hermione frowned.

“I know what you might be thinking; is it sexist? Yes, in some ways. As you can already tell, these old families are quite traditional. It’s not that their daughters don’t inherit — they do. As a result, most brides have their own wealth. But while much of the societal power comes from having the name, which follows the male side of line, the daughters of the House of Black tend to be exceptionally talented witches. It’s an odd quirk of fate that has favored the production of daughters for a family that has done such a good job of connecting itself to every other family in the Sacred Twenty-Eight. At this point, we’ve been almost completely absorbed. So, while we remain well-connected, we’re dying out.”

“But, you’re a male Black.”

“Yes. And with my brother already beyond the veil, I am _the_ last one. In fact, my mother was married off to one of her distant cousins, in an effort to tie together two sides of the family; and while my mother had two brothers, both of them only had daughters.”

Hermione glanced down to see if she saw a wedding band, seeing none, she decided to ask the inevitable, “And are you married?”

Sirius chuckled. “Heavens, no. I consider it a benefit of not being afraid to let some things die. I’ve never been the marrying type. And as far as I’m concerned, it’s just a final way I can stick it to my mother.”

Hermione looked thoughtful. “So, what does that mean for the Black estate?”

Sirius gave her an odd look. “Such sincere concern is touching, Miss Granger. It’s rather refreshing to know the question doesn’t come with a proposed contract attached. Not to worry, there are convoluted inheritance laws that will ensure that everything that needs to be passed down will be handled accordingly. And _that_ is nothing you need to concern yourself with. Now, let me get back to the point. Historically, there have been plenty of Blacks. But the Malfoys? Usually, there’s only one male heir in each generation. It has kept their estate intact, but it also meant few opportunities for other families to align themselves with the Malfoys. There hasn’t been a Black married to a Malfoy in the last few centuries. So you can imagine, that the union ofDraco’s parents was rather significant.”

She nodded. Listening to Sirius talk was like a history lesson and an episode of Downton Abbey, rolled into one. She thought about something Draco had mentioned earlier. “Draco said he lived here?”

Sirius chuckled. “Indeed, he was born here, as all Malfoys have been. But you recall what I said about those strong witches in the Black line? Draco’s mother, Narcissa, was no exception. If a witch is lucky, her husband has already inherited and holds the family seat. If not, one makes do with a wing of the house or at times, a smaller property elsewhere on the grounds. It’s one of the facts of our society. With larger estates, we often have multiple generations living together — all the better to pass down family lore to the younger generations and ensure that everyone plays their part. A pureblood wife bides her time in silence, waiting for her in-laws to kick the bucket, so she can have her moment in the sun.”

“That’s morbid.” Hermione grimaced, thinking how it must be for one’s family to behave in such a way.

“No, dear. That’s the reality of estate succession. You have to remember, most of these relationships aren’t built on love.” Sirius continued. “From the beginning, there was no love lost between the presumed Lady Malfoy and the one currently holding the title. For a time, Narcissa was content to wait, but she was unhappy not being the Lady of the Manor. To his credit, I think Draco’s father did what he could to assuage her concerns, but eventually, she put her foot down and refused to live here any longer, until she, herself, was Lady Malfoy.”

Hermione’s eyes were wide. While she wasn’t familiar with the ins and outs of British pureblood society, that seemed like a rather bold statement. “So what happened?”

“She packed her household and decamped for their house in London, taking the Malfoy heir with her in the process.”

“Draco.” She whispered, thinking about what a change that would have been for him.

Sirius leaned in closer. “Precisely. His father had no choice but to follow, although, the popular story was that _he_ had decided to move so he could be closer to his ‘business interests.’ It would never do for it to get out that he had let his wife run him from his ancestral home.”

A throat cleared behind them, and they both turned their heads to find an elderly woman who, while she sported a pleasant enough smile, the rest of her expression made clear that she was not to be trifled with.

“Excuse me dear, I know we haven’t been acquainted, but that rather fetching necklace you are wearing appears to be mine. Would you care to explain?”

Hermione felt her cheeks redden. She wasn’t sure what to say.

Sirius fully turned towards the woman. “Good evening, Miss Prewett, may I introduce Hermione Granger. She’s here as Draco’s guest this evening.”

The woman’s intense stare softened somewhat into a look of appraisal.

Suddenly, it clicked. “Oh, you must be Ginny’s Aunt Muriel. I’m so glad to meet you. Yes, she lent me the jewelry for the evening. I hope you don’t mind. They are quite beautiful pieces.” She hoped that the flattery would help mollify the woman.

“Hmm… Well, they do look quite lovely, don’t they? It’s been a pleasure meeting you. Since you’re so close with my great niece, please remind Ginevra that I expect her for tea tomorrow. Would you do that, Miss Granger?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Hermione nodded, hoping that Ginny wasn’t in trouble.

The woman’s look morphed to one of disdain and she turned away.

“What was that about?” She wondered out loud.

“That was rather American of you, as if your accent wasn’t enough of a giveaway.”

“Oh.” Hermione frowned. Yet another thing she didn’t know. She wondered if her research time would have been better spent learning about social etiquette than places to see.

Sirius moved to stand. “Come, let’s walk. I have an idea where to find your missing escort.”

He accompanied her back into the hallway. This time they headed away from the party and towards a closed door. He leaned his ear against it before opening, and gave her a nod.

o0o

Three heads looked up in unison at the sound of the door opening. Draco wondered who had discovered them at last. He had wanted to find Hermione, but had been diverted by his cousin who was quite put out that he hadn’t come to find her immediately upon his arrival. Shortly after, Theo had joined them in the Billiards room, and the three were lost to firewhisky and catching up, as they did their best to out-manoeuvre each other at the game.

For the second time that night, Draco felt himself relax as he saw his witch. He walked over to her and kissed her temple.

“I think you forgot something.” Sirius chided, as he stepped back out of the room.

“Nonsense. We knew she was in good hands.” Theo called after him before turning his attention back to the table.

“Oh, goody. Now you can introduce us, Draco.”

Draco smiled at his cousin. She had her heels off and her dress hiked up on one side so she could lean in on the table. She had always been far less proper than the other girls of his acquaintance. Regardless of the fact that she was quite a few years older than he and Theo —or perhaps because she was, he genuinely enjoyed her company. 

He smiled. “Hermione, this is my cousin, Nymphadora. Nymphadora, meet Hermione.”

“Call me Tonks or Dora, if you must. Much less of a mouthful. It’s about bloody time I get to meet you. I’ve had to survive on scraps of information from this one.” She grinned and inclined her head towards Theo.

Unlike all the time Draco had spent with Theo, he hadn’t had much chance to interact with Dora when they were growing up. His Aunt Andromeda had deigned to marry a muggle-born, which made her daughter a half-blood, something his mother did not consider ideal, although it wasn’t an issue except in the pickiest of pureblood circles. Draco wondered if his aunt had chosen to elope, rather than submit to an arranged marriage, much to the displeasure of her parents. To hear his mother talk, the scandal had even threatened to derail her own betrothal to his father. As a result, the women were largely estranged to this day. His mother was cordial with her sister when in public, but had no real relationship, instead preferring the company of her “suitably married” sister — although his aunt Bellatrix could be quite a troublemaker in her own right.

It wasn’t until he was older that he had the chance to get to know Dora; as he and his closest friends began exploring a world beyond what their parents had so carefully laid out for them. She was funny and interesting, and far more familiar with muggle London than they had initially been. To his surprise, she hadn’t held any ill will towards Draco and Theo, instead she seemed happy with her new role as part honorary big sister and part London tour guide.

“Draco, your turn.” Theo called, gesturing to the table.

“Have you played Wizards Billiards before?” He turned to Hermione.

“Can’t say that I have. Is it like pool?”

“A common assumption, but an erroneous one.” Theo quipped.

“Let me show you.” Draco led Hermione to the table, where four balls sat. One was white, while each of the others was decorated differently. Each player had chosen the pattern for their own ball.“The game is to send the cue ball to hit your own ball and at least one other, while avoiding any obstacles your opponents may have placed in the way.”

Hermione looked puzzled. “Obstacles?” The table was smooth.

“It’s magic, love. We’ve each set a number of charms around the table and they are activated, or not, based on the track of the cue ball and the strength of the casting shot. Of course, one only has so many defensive moves, so, you have to decide when you use them. Knowing the person you are playing with also comes into play — what type of moves they like to make, offensive or defensive, what their style of play is. It’s a game of both skill and strategy.” 

“Interesting.” He could see her mind at work. “Which one is yours?” She asked, noting the three different patterns on the table.

“Mine is the one with the dragon curled around it.”

“Original.” He could hear the sarcasm in her voice. Theo snorted.

“Want to give it a go?” He looked at his fellow players who nodded their assent.

“Sure. Why not.”

He showed her the motion. “It’s almost like casting a Reparo, but tighter and in reverse, with a thrust right at the end.”

“Here. Watch me first.” He leaned over and sent the cue on its way. It bounced off the side and clipped the corner of his ball, but not before slowing down dramatically.

“What was that?” Hermione asked quizzically, trying to understand what she had seen.

Dora laughed. “Speed trap; Draco likes to use a lot of spin, so I use them to bleed off some of his momentum.”

“And yet, I still scored. Hermione, come stand here.” He gestured for her to join him on the other side of the table and bent down to whisper in her ear. “It would be quite annoying for Theo if he were to get caught in that corner. See if you can tap my ball and Dora’s in that direction.”He pointed out the shot, showing her the angles needed. Given her knowledge of arithmancy, he figured she was already doing the necessary computations in her head.

Hermione nodded and bent over, pointing her wand at the cue ball and moving her wrist in a tight swirl to practice the motion. Draco was far more focused on her arse, as she bent over the table. He lent into her, and suppressed a grin as he felt her push back against him, using his body to brace herself. She moved her wrist in a careful spiral and released the shot. Her aim was true, and somehow the cue hit Draco’s ball and then Dora’s, settling in a spot in the corner. She stood and clapped her hands together, pleased with the outcome.

Theo scowled, unhappy with the position he now found himself. “Beginner’s luck.”

“Or just skill.” Draco crooned, leaning down to nuzzle his witch’s neck. She tilted her head which gave him a clearer path for his lips.

“Enough, you two! Some of us haven’t had enough to drink tonight.”

Draco grinned. “My house. My rules, Nott,” he said in jest. He turned his attention back to Hermione. “Would you cafe for a walk? I’d like to show you the gardens.”

o0o

Draco was glad to be alone with his witch, however, he knew he had some explaining to do. “Sorry I left you for so long. I was caught in conversation and then Dora found me.”

“It wasn’t a problem. Your uncle took care of me. In fact, he filled me in on _quite a few things_.” She paused, waiting to see if he would say anything.

Draco stiffened, but kept walking, guiding her outside and across the lawn, not wanting to cut through the guests once again. They could hear the sounds of the gathering, as he led her out into the manicured gardens.

They walked in silence until they reached a pavilion some distance from the house. Draco gestured for Hermione to sit on a bench that looked back towards the house then joined her. He picked up her hand, and was glad when she pressed against him.

“So… “ His voice drifted off, unsure what to say next.

“So.” Hermione mirrored.

He took a deep breath. It seemed he needed to apologize several times tonight. “I’m sorry, I…”

Hermione placed a finger over his lips.He quieted and she reached over and kissed his cheek. “It’s been a long day, Draco. Maybe we can wait for tomorrow?”

He reached his arms around her and squeezed her tight, planting a kiss on the top of her head. “I love you, Hermione.”

“I know.” She responded, though he couldn’t quite identify the emotion he heard in her voice.

* * *

Theo and Harry

Godric’s Hollow

Theo stirred as he heard a blasted bird chirping outside. It was way too bright. The elves had forgotten to close the blinds, he thought, already annoyed, given he was not yet ready to wake up. As his consciousness kicked in, he realised there was an arm draped over his chest.

And suddenly, his brain was very awake.

From the light in the room, he could tell it was still early. If he could slide out from the unfortunately placed arm, he could collect his clothes and be gone before anyone was the wiser.

His head throbbed. A consequence of too many drinks over the course of the evening and no Sober Up potion, he surmised. He couldn’t claim that he had been pissed — at least not to himself. Tipsy, perhaps, because it was easier to drink around Potter than face the alternatives — which his mind had no problem sifting through now in the light of day. If confronted, he could blame the alcohol. He had already been drinking at the manor before he even met up with Potter. Plausible deniability; that’s all he needed.

But right now, he was stuck in bed with Harry and trying to figure out how he could slip away without the awkward morning after conversation, while his mind seemed bent on replaying the events of his evening after leaving the manor.

_He had slid into the booth, trying to seem as aloof and unbothered as he could._

_Potter flashed that silly grin that had always allowed him to get away with anything. “I thought you might not show.”_

_“I told you I’d be here. I’m here.”_

_“Did you read my letters?”_

_Theo shrugged. Whether he had or hadn’t was immaterial in the moment. He had told Potter he would come hear what he had to say and here he was. Theo didn’t owe him anything more than that; and, he wasn’t sure that he even owed him that._

_Harry looked at him with a gaze that was far more piercing than Theo remembered. The man was an Auror, after all, trained in who knows what. Theo sat up a little straighter in his seat. He had done nothing wrong._

_“I guess that’s fair.” Harry sighed, running a hand through his eternally messy locks._

_Theo finished his drink and raised his hand to signal for another._

_“Look, I was an idiot.” Harry began. “I was scared, confused. I didn’t understand how I could feel so much; how when I was with you everything else in the world melted away… I know I threw it all away. And for what? A bunch of half-hearted snogs with girls in the broom closet?_

_Theo shuddered and Harry laughed. “Yeah, that bad.”_

_“Here’s the thing.” Harry continued. “I’m older now. We’re older now. I’m done listening to what other people have to say. I’m definitely past all that house bullshite. And I know who I am. I know it’s no excuse, but I do.”_

_It would be so easy to just give in, Theo thought. So easy to just let bygones be bygones and slip into old patterns. He could see it all laid out in front of him, plain as day. But, he couldn’t. He wanted to hold on to some semblance of self-esteem. While Potter’s words were like balm to his soul, he couldn’t stop worrying that it could all be ripped away just as easily as it had been the first time._

_“What do you want me to say, Potter? That you walking away from me didn’t hurt like hell? Because it did.”_

_Harry stiffened._

_“And what am I supposed to do with this anyways? It’s all in the past now. Am I supposed to just forget what happened because you’ve decided that… what… you know who you are now? What the fuck does that even mean?”_

_Harry looked hurt, which killed Theo inside, because deep down, part of him wanted to believe what Harry was saying, that there was some small chance to fix what had been broken years before. But he was not about to put his heart out there for a second time. No, thank you. He had already done that, and it had gotten him nothing but heartache._

_Harry put his elbows on the table and his face in his hands. He looked defeated. His green eyes were dull, worn. He took a deep breath._

_“I’m sorry, Theo. I’m sorry for all of it. I’m sorry for screwing up what may have been the best thing I’ve known. If I had it to do over again, I would not be the same idiot. I know you have no reason to believe me. Or trust me. But I’d do almost anything to have another shot. And if you’re not interested, well, then at least I’ve said my piece.”_

_He felt his resolve crumbling. This was all Theo had ever wanted to hear from Harry, a real, sincere apology. He could see in his face how deeply sorry Harry was, the truth behind his words. He had to leave before he did something stupid, something he would definitely regret. He reached in his pocket, found a few Galleons, and threw them down on the table before rising to leave._

_“Good night, Potter. I wish you the best.”_

_Theo walked quickly. He was seven steps out of the door when he heard Harry call his name, and quickened his pace. He was nearly at the Apparition point, when Harry grabbed his arm and turned him around, pressing his lips to his._

_Theo stood there stunned for a moment, but then felt his body betray him, as he groaned. Harry took the opportunity to deepen the kiss and pushed him backwards just two steps before Disapparating them both, without letting go._

_From there it was a tangle of teeth and limbs and rediscovering bodies that now belonged to men instead of boys. It was everything Theo had been missing, and he took it all in like Harry was the answer to every single one of his prayers, if he had ever been a praying man._

Theo figured the longer he waited, the greater the chance of having to face Harry would be. He eased out from under Harry’s arm and waited before sliding off the edge of the bed. He was careful not to make a sound when putting on his trousers, and put his shirt over his arm.

Just a few more moments and he would be free.

“Oh, so you’re going to do a runner, Nott? Really?”

He froze, unsure what he should do. He didn’t want to turn and look at Harry; he was worried about what he might see: the triumph of conquest or something even more concerning — hope.

Harry spoke up again. “I guess breakfast is out of the question?”

Theo sighed. Avoiding the awkward morning-after conversation was no longer an option. “I need to head home.” In truth, he didn’t, but it was as good an excuse as any to get him out of here before he ended up making another bad decision. He heard the sheets rustle behind him.

Harry was rummaging for something to put on, but Theo waved him off. “No, don’t get up. I’ll see myself out.”

“Nonsense. You don’t even know where you are.” 

Theo decided he would at least put on his shirt, since no longer had to worry about waking Harry.

Harry walked out into the hallway and Theo followed, carrying the rest of his belongings.

They stood awkwardly at the Floo for a moment, before Theo grabbed a handful of Floo Powder and stepped in.

“Can I see you again?” Harry asked quietly.

Theo finally glanced up and met Harry’s eyes, surprised to see Harry looked as anxious as he felt. The powder slipped from Theo’s hand, and as the flames sprung up, he whispered, “I don’t know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh, Theo...
> 
> Ever heard of Carom billiards? That's what I had in mind. :)


	9. Hermione and Draco/Narcissa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continued thanks to FrappuBean, ElleHart and FandomFairytales.

Draco and Hermione

London

Hermione woke in her favorite spot, curled in Draco’s arms, her back pressed against him. Yesterday had been such a very long day, as well as a confusing one. She stayed still, not wanting to wake him, glad to have a moment to gather her thoughts. 

Last night had been like something from one of those muggle BBC dramas that Draco teased her for watching. However the kicker was, it was _his_ family that was living in a manor home that would not have looked out of place near Ilvermorny, both for its size and its architecture. She knew in her head that people lived in places like that, but they were few and far between, and they certainly weren't people that she associated with.

She felt like she had learned things that seemed like such a large part of Draco, about his upbringing and his family, and wondered why he hadn’t shared any of it with her before. Moreover, what if anything did it all mean? Ginny’s family had made a big deal of the fact that _she_ was dating Draco, although to her, it was the most natural thing in the world. But she’d be lying if she didn’t admit to some concern about her introduction to what seemed to be a world full of protocol and a lifetime of inside information that she wasn’t privy to.

Draco came from all of that, she now knew. If she was honest with herself, that part didn’t bother her. While he had been comfortable in that world last night, he had won her heart without any of that. She loved the man who lived and breathed potions and also had a healthy interest in other subjects, both magical and muggle, who had an insatiable curiosity for the world around him, who insisted on eating spicy food, even though it didn’t agree with him, who took out the trash when her mother asked, and who more often than not was happy to curl up on the couch while they each read. There were a million reasons why she loved him, none of which had a thing to do with what she had learned last night.

The arm draped over her tightened, drawing her even closer.

“I can hear your brain working from here.”

He kissed her hair and she turned to face him.

“Good morning.”

“Is it?”

While his face was relaxed, his eyes told a different story. He looked at her, as if trying tosort out where her head was.

Hermione sighed. He was always so attentive. Yes, they would need to talk, but there was no need for him to be concerned. She lifted her leg and rolled over so she was now straddling him. Her hair fell in a curtain around their faces as she bent down and kissed him.

“I think so. Don’t you?” She moved her hips to make clear to him how she preferred to spend her morning.

“As you wish.”

His face broke into a crooked grin. 

This was theirs. There was no one else demanding his time or who would be looking down their nose at her. She reveled in his touch, as he slid the strap from one shoulder and then the other and let her nightie pool around her waist. His hands palmed her breasts and twisted her nipples. Hermione sighed as she slid against him, searching for friction and finding that certain parts of him were already plenty awake. She braced her hands on his chest and tilted her hips just so, allowing the tip of him to slip into her gathering wetness, before sinking down to take him fully. They both groaned, relishing the familiar feeling, and she bent down to kiss him again.

Slowly, she slid forward, careful to not lose him before rocking back once again. This was not a tempo he would let her keep for long, but she loved watching the pleasure on his face, before sheer need took over and his hands traveled to her hips to guide her at the tempo he wanted. Once she was moving faster, one hand stayed gripping her hip, as he pressed up into her. His bottom lip was tucked under his teeth, as if for emphasis, as he bit back a muffled _hngh_ at each thrust. His other hand reached out to press against her clit, his fingers swirling around it as she continued to rock above him. The extra sensation was enough to send her over the edge. She threw her head back and Draco continued to guide her hips, as her orgasm washed over her. She felt herself lift from the bed, as Draco’s hips thrust upward sharply, finding his own release. 

In the aftermath, she fell forward onto Draco, tucking her head into his neck, as he stroked her back, muttering all the while. “So fucking gorgeous.” They lay there intertwined as their breathing returned to normal.

Eventually, Hermione picked up her head and smiled at him.

“See, it is a good morning.”

“Indeed.”

o0o

After a second round and a shower, Draco was feeling ready to greet the day. He ordered room service while Hermione dealt with her hair. He hoped that having breakfast in the room would give them a chance to talk. While Hermione seemed to be rather forgiving about everything thus far, and it was in his nature to evade difficult conversations when he could, he knew she would have questions, and wanted to answer them. The sight of her emerging from the bathroom in a fluffy, white hotel robe, with only a simple tie limiting his ability to debauch her again, had him rethinking his plan, but a knock on the door pulled his attention away. Breakfast had arrived.

“Dear god, I hope you ordered coffee.”

She joined him in the living room and flopped on a chair.

He smirked and handed her a cup, just the way she liked it.

Hermione took a sip and sighed.

“So.”

“So…” Draco echoed, repeating their pattern from last night. This time, however, they would need to talk about it.

She looked at him expectantly.

He wondered how long he could hold the silence, perhaps fearing how everything would now be different between them. He looked at her, at the morning light shining through her wet hair as it started to curl, at her knee, resting above the table, as she sat with one leg tucked up, at her fingers curled around the cup.

Hermione decided to break the mounting tension.

“So, I got to see where you grew up. Uh… that was a bit of a surprise.”

She put her mug down on the table and started uncovering the dishes. “I hope there are pancakes.”

“There are things you Americans would call pancakes,” he smirked.

“Syrup delivery devices,” she grinned, as she found what she wanted and put the plate in front of her.

He knew what she was doing, trying to wait for him to find his words, giving him space to do so. That was one thing they had learned early in their relationship. It was a subtle give and take. While Hermione was logical, she was also extremely expressive. She had no hesitation in letting him know exactly what she thought about something, especially when it concerned him.

Draco, on the other hand, knew that he was very much a product of his upbringing. He didn’t default to emotion, let alone vulnerability. But, he found as they got to know each other, that he wanted her to know him, that he could trust her with his fears and frustrations. He didn’t have to be so carefully controlled with her. That didn’t mean it was easy for him, so he was thankful for the space to gather his thoughts… not that he hadn’t been trying to figure out what to say since last night.

He raked a hand through his hair.

“Honestly, I don’t even know where to start.”

She looked up, but said nothing for a moment, and then sighed.

“Draco, you don’t have to apologize for your family having money, or not having money. That doesn’t make a difference to me. Did you think you had to hide that?”

“Absolutely not.”

He raked a hand through his hair, trying to figure out how to explain.

“Truthfully, I think I’ve been glad to be away from all of what life over here entails. In New York, I could always be myself. I never had to worry about who expected what or how to navigate all the different angles of an interaction. Last night I was thrown back into it all; and I had forgotten how it can be. Don’t get me wrong, I can do it, but it gets tiring. With you, I’ve never had to pretend to be anything. I’m not this person who has all these expectations on their shoulders. I’m just me.”

“I get that, Draco. But, a bit of heads up would be helpful. Did you think I had a dress for _that_?”

“You would have looked fine in anything, Hermione.”

“Whether that’s true or not, I would have been mortified; being underdressed in a crowd like that would not have gone over well. Thank god for Ginny. She insisted on helping me get ready.”

Draco cocked his head to the side, “Ginny Weasley, who plays for the Harpies? She’s your friend?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. Clearly, she would need to get Ginny and Draco in a room together, but that was beside the point at the moment.

“So, let me clarify a few things… Blaise owned the restaurant he took us to, yes?

Draco nodded slowly.

Hermione looked around, “And he probably owns this hotel, too.”

He nodded again.

“Honestly, while it’s a surprise, Draco, it’s not a big deal.”

He exhaled, thankful he hadn’t screwed up things too badly.

“What bothers me is that in all the time we’ve known each other, you’ve never felt that you could be honest about this.”

“I guess it’s not something I talk about because it’s not who I am. When I was growing up, I could be a bit of an entitled prat, but I’ve grown past that. So many of those people last night see nothing more than my surname. I am not my name. I am not a house. I couldn’t care less about stupid traditions. I just want to live my life, just like I’ve been able to do… With you.”

Hermione came around the table, sat on his lap and put her arms around him.

“I love the Draco I know, but I have to be honest, it was a little weird getting to see parts of who you are without you saying anything first. I’ve shared so much of my life, the good, the bad. You know my mom, and how she drives me crazy. I hope you can trust me with those parts of you, too.”

“That’s just it, Hermione. I do trust you with those.”

“Okay, let me rephrase, then. I hope that you think enough about me to help me navigate these parts of you that I’m just learning about. Does that make sense?”

He kissed her forehead.

“It does.”

“Good, now let’s talk about the peacocks.”

Draco groaned, “I _hate_ the peacocks.”

“Oh, good, because that was just weird.”

* * *

Narcissa

London

Another afternoon in the drawing room. Narcissa looked up from her correspondence and sighed audibly. There was only so much interest one could feign in Delphinia Burke’s campaign to raise awareness of the plight of mooncalves, especially when the woman’s true purpose for writing had nothing to do with the beasts and everything to do with having seen Draco and the American that he had brought with him to the event at the manor last night. She wasn’t pleased with her son, but she hadn’t yet had the chance to tell him what she thought of this little stunt. Further, the other person she wanted to see had not yet arrived.

Lucius looked up from his paper.

“Darling?”

“Our son is in town, but isn’t staying here and hasn’t come by to see us yet.”

Truth be told, she was rather miffed by this slight in Draco’s behavior.

“Relax. He’s only been here a day or two. Give the boy a moment to get settled.”

She scowled, undeterred by her husband’s reasoning.

“Might I remind you that it has been two years since I last laid eyes on him? I don’t think it’s too much for a mother to ask to be able to see her only child.”

Lucius had the audacity to smirk at her dramatics.

“Did I miss the part where the portkeys to America stopped working? If I recall, Draco did extend an invitation.”

“Barely. He knows I would never willingly set foot over there. My point remains. I hear he had time to see your mother. You would think he might make time to see his own.”

Wisely, Lucius said nothing in response. She hadn’t expected one. It was well-worn territory. There was no love lost between Narcissa and her mother-in-law, which was precisely why Draco heading to Malfoy Manor before he even came home bothered her so.

It wasn’t a competition, Narcissa reminded herself. No, she had claimed victory long ago, when she had put her foot down, refusing to continue to play second fiddle to Lucius’s mother in what was supposed to be Narcissa’s own home. She had seen the writing on the wall; how her own desires, whether for decorating the interior, or for renewing the rose garden, were put on hold because _she_ technically was not the lady of the manor. All the while, _she_ was the one appearing at charity events as the representative of the Malfoy family, curating donations from the Malfoy vaults, and ensuring that her son was raised in the manner in which the Malfoy heir should be. As much as she didn’t like it, neither the manor nor the title would be fully hers until the old lady died.

Furthermore, she had not appreciated the interference in how her son was raised. The woman positively spoiled the boy. More than once Narcissa had butted heads with the woman for giving Draco sweets when she had expressly forbade it; not to mention how the woman let him run amok around the manor and the grounds. It wasn’t that Narcissa didn’t love her son, mind you. Of course, she did; he was the spitting image of her husband and the pinnacle of generations of impeccable bloodlines of the most important wizarding families. No one else could say that. She was proud to be the one to have linked the Black and Malfoy family trees, at last, and to have provided the Malfoys with their heir. Indeed, Draco was her greatest accomplishment.

Having been raised the way she had, Narcissa upheld the belief that young children were neither to be seen nor heard, except when on display. Acquaintances and friends were carefully selected, their education and activities carefully curated, their manners and tastes refined. Those were the marks of good parenting. That was how one showed love to a child, not overly emotional displays that would do no good at preparing him for the world ahead.

While even Lucius expressed surprise at the difference between how his mother treated their son and how he and his sister had been raised, he seemed more amused than concerned. Narcissa, however, would not lose sight of the end goal. She was raising Draco to take his place in society, and there was nothing worse than a spoiled dauphin. Draco needed to be raised with respect and restraint. Some day the world would be his oyster, but that day had not yet arrived.

Since Lucius would never speak or act against his beloved mother, it was left to Narcissa to find a solution. And that she did. She had not been raised to play second fiddle to anyone. After all, she was a Black. It was up to the world to work around her, not the other way around.

Everyone assumed that because each successive generation of Malfoys had always resided in Malfoy Manor that it would always be so. Perhaps those mothers didn’t have the wherewithal that she did. Once Narcissa had made the decision that she was going to make a change, it had been simple. She had always liked the London house. Holland Park wasn’t nearly as large as the Manor, but it didn’t need to be, given its location. Indeed, that was one of its benefits, being much closer to the heart of wizarding society than Wiltshire. It was also rather close to Kensington Palace and the heart of muggle society, if one cared about that sort of thing — not that she did.

While Lucius was otherwise occupied, she instructed their personal elves to pack and move their personal belongings directly to the London house, and directed Draco’s nurse elf to Apparate her young charge there once his things had been relocated. She then went to visit a friend, so as not to be bothered by the commotion.

When she arrived at Holland Park later that afternoon, Lucius was already waiting for her.

“So this is what we’re doing now?”

She straightened her spine and lifted her chin. She would not be moved.

“You could have at least told me, instead of me having to be called away suddenly by my mother’s elf.”

“You left me no choice, Lucius. I will not be treated as second best in your life. I refuse to live at the Manor again until you fully inherit. Until _I_ am the only Lady Malfoy.”

Truth was, she had been his second choice once before, which perhaps helped to drive her actions here. And then, like now, the decision had been taken away from Lucius when her sister had eloped with a muggle-born before a betrothal contract had been put in place. Her father, anxious to smooth over any of the Malfoys’ concerns had offered _her_ — the younger and prettier sister — in Andromeda’s stead. And Lucius had accepted… As he should have, given she was the real prize. Her sister had never relished the constraints that life as a Malfoy would mean. She hadn’t paid as much attention during their etiquette lessons. And clearly, she didn’t care for the same traditions and values. No, it was Narcissa who deserved to hold this position as the only Lady Malfoy, and she refused to play the runner-up.

It was an easy transition to Holland Park. Lucius acquiesced, but returned to the manor regularly, as he was still responsible for its running. He also took Draco with him frequently. “Malfoys belong at Malfoy Manor, dear.” But he didn’t press their returning to live there. At least at Holland Park, Narcissa could entertain to her heart’s content without being under the watchful eye of her mother-in-law. It was freeing. This was hers and only hers. 

Much to her chagrin, her son’s entanglements with the manor and adoration of his grandmother only grew with the absence. Whether it was due to Lucius’s encouragement, or the old woman’s indulgence; once Draco was old enough to reach the Floo powder, he was often found at the manor, instead. Narcissa had to put her foot down more than once — at the very least, dinner was to be spent at home (although she recognized the need for her family to be at the manor for special occasions and holidays when the entire family was gathered). At least she didn’t need to put on a show for anyone or regularly deal with the older woman whose very being was the obstacle between what she currently had and what she deserved.

The arrangement had kept the peace for years now, however, it did not prevent Narcissa from feeling slighted, given the uneven attentions her son apparently continued to give _her,_ versus his grandmother.

Narcissa heard footsteps and looked up, hiding the disappointment on her face when her sister, Bellatrix, traipsed into the room. Not that she wasn’t glad for the distraction, but it wasn’t who she was hoping for. 

“Hello, Cissy.”

Bellatrix bent down and brushed her sister’s cheek; she plopped down in a chair next to her and turned to face her sister’s husband.

“Luci.”

“Ahh, look what the cat dragged in. Clearly, I need to improve the wards.”

Bellatrix ignored him, focusing her attention on her sister.

“Well? Any news? Have you got a full report yet?”

“Not yet. Celeste should be here shortly.”

“Well, what have you heard?”

“That Draco was there with an American. I’ve had several owls reporting that this morning.” She waved her hand towards the correspondence that lay in front of her. “In her letter, Delphinia even had the nerve to offer her daughter as a suitable match. Can you imagine?”

Bellatrix cackled.

“So what now?”

“We wait… I’d like to know more about who this woman is who thinks she has her claws in my son before I decide what needs to be done.”

Lucius folded his paper and stood. “I think I’ll be adjourning to my study, ladies.”

“Very well, dear.” Narcissa nodded, as he took his leave.

“At least he knows when he’s not wanted.” Bellatrix said a little too loudly just before the door closed.

“Must you go to war with him every time?” Narcissa scolded.

“How else do you expect me to have my fun?”

The door opened again and Bellatrix called out, “Forgot something, Luci? Getting senile?”

Narcissa’s face brightened. It was Celeste. Now, she would finally hear details of the event firsthand. Narcissa called for an elf to bring tea and then moved to a more suitable location in the room to catch up.

“Well?” Narcissa asked once they were settled.

She was glad it was just the three of them today. Posy had always been a bit too presumptuous when it came to Draco’s future. Narcissa liked Pansy well enough, but there were other options for her son. The Travers' daughter was quite a beauty, and the young Carrow twins weren’t spoken for yet. If things didn’t work out with the Parkinsons — if Pansy wasn’t the right choice, she wouldn’t hesitate to look elsewhere.

Celeste smiled coyly.

“What do you want to know first?”

Bellatrix leaned in, hungry for the gossip.

“Everything.”

Narcissa, however, was more restrained.

“Let’s start with the highlights and go from there. I don’t need a full rundown of the evening. You did see her, didn’t you?”

“I did.”

“And? Were you introduced?”

“No, I didn’t have _that_ pleasure, but I spoke with others who were.”

“Hmm. And what was she like?”

“Skip that,” Bellatrix interrupted. “What was Draco like around her?”

“Well, that’s the funny thing,” Celeste looked puzzled, “the two of them weren’t really together much over the course of the night.”

Narcissa relaxed just a bit. Clearly, this had all been overblown.

“So who was she with?”

“She was primarily in the company of your cousin.”

“SIRIUS?!” Bellatrix exclaimed. “He was there?”

Narcissa turned to her sister.

“Please, you know the old lady has a soft spot for Sirius.” 

“And, your sister and your niece were also in attendance.”

Celeste looked pleased to deliver this tidbit.

“She’s no niece of mine,” Bellatrix scowled.

“And where was Draco?” Narcissa wondered.

“It sounds like he worked the room rather well and chatted with a number of people who were pleased to see he had returned to Britain.”

Narcissa frowned. This wasn’t adding up.

“But the girl was there… With Sirius?”

“Well, your nephew, Theodore, was there with them at first, but then he left. And yes, I saw the two of them talking for quite a while.”

Bellatrix jumped in again.

“What was she wearing? I bet she looked a fright.”

Narcissa shook her head. Whatever might be going on between her son and this woman, she would be surprised if that was true.

“No, actually, her robe choice was appropriate. I’m sure someone must have helped her. But, she definitely looked like she felt out of place, given she most assuredly was.”

The conversation went on around her, but Narcissa was deep in thought. If her son and Miss Granger had come together, it was curious that Draco had left her unattended. Perhaps he wasn’t as attached as she had feared. However, now that they were here, Narcissa would have to find out more about this Hermione Granger. It never hurt to know as much about an adversary as one could.


	10. Hermione/Draco/Cormac and Cho

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continued love to FrappuBean and FandomFairytales for keeping me on the straight and narrow.

Hermione

London

Hermione had been to bachelorette parties before, but never a hen’s weekend; she assumed it would be similar. Given how the trip had gone so far, it remained an open question. Daphne’s note had said to pack a bag for a beach weekend. That was easy enough. She had filled her day pack with a few things — swimsuit, cover up, sunscreen, the essentials, and a change of clothes, since she would be gone overnight. Just in case, she threw in an extra sundress and a pair of sandals, pulled her hair up in a messy bun to keep it out of the way, and waited for Draco to finish getting ready.

For his part, Draco was heading to Blaise’s stag party, although the planning for the event had fallen to someone else, given he hadn’t been here.

“It’s going to be a disaster for me, but you’ll have fun.” Draco did not look at all excited.

“Why a disaster?”

“Let’s just say that I know the host, and his idea of a good time is not the same as mine. Alas, duty calls. Are you ready for me to drop you off?”

“I am.”

Draco leaned over and kissed her. “I know you’ll have a wonderful time. See you tomorrow, yeah?” He extended his arm for her to take and Disapparated. The two landed in a rather posh flat overlooking London.

“Oi, Blaise! You ready?” Draco hollered.

Daphne was the first to appear and Hermione noticed that she was dressed quite differently than she had been when they first met. The jeans and comfortable attire had been replaced with a dress that looked more resort chic than Hermione’s idea of beach wear.

“Draco! Hermione!” She kissed them both and turned to Hermione. “I’m so glad you’re joining us.”

“Thanks again for inviting me.”

“Of course. My sister should be here soon. She’s bringing our portkey.”

“Portkey?”

“Of course. Where we’re headed is too far to Apparate and there aren’t any Floos connected. It’s a little out of the way, but that’s what makes it worth it.” Daphne smiled.

Blaise appeared from the back. “Let’s go, Malfoy. The time of our lives awaits.”

Draco rolled his eyes. “Precisely what I’m afraid of.”

“Only because you’ve been gone too long.” He leaned down and kissed Daphne. “Ciao, bella. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Which is what, exactly?” Daphne called after him as the two wizards stepped into the Floo.

Like clockwork, the departure of the wizards heralded the arrival of Daphne’s sister. She also was dressed impeccably, perhaps even more so than Daphne. She placed her sunglasses on top of her head and cocked her head to the side. “Are you ready, Daph?”

Daphne grinned. “Absolutely. Astoria, let me introduce you to Hermione Granger.”

“Charmed.” Astoria held up a limp hand to shake, and turned back to her sister. “Can we go? The girls will be waiting for us on the other end.”

Daphne nodded.

“First, put this on.”

Astoria pulled a sash out of her bag, it was white with pink rhinestones spelling the word BRIDE that flashed on and off.

Daphne giggled. “Must I?”

Astoria raised an eyebrow, making clear that not wearing it was not a choice.

“You have Pansy to thank for that; she insisted.”

Daphne donned the sash with a sigh.

“And now the portkey.” Astoria pulled a rather showy tiara out of her bag.

“Oh my!” Daphne giggled, as she placed it on her head.

Astoria smiled and turned to Hermione who was standing back watching everything unfold. “Ready?”

Hermione nodded and placed her hand on the tiara, trying to ensure she had a hold on it, while also avoiding pulling on Daphne’s hair. She had seen a lot of portkeys in her day, but not one like this.

Astoria took out her wand to activate the portkey. “Mrs. Zabini!” She called, and Hermione felt a familiar pull whisk her away.

They landed on a quiet beach, and Hermione quickly stepped back and let go of the tiara as Daphne was enveloped in the arms of several women who had been anticipating their arrival.

“Ooh Daphne! Look at you! You must be so excited.”

“What a beautiful bride. Blaise is so lucky to have you.”

“That dress is to die for, Daph. Where did you get it?”

“Now ladies, there will be plenty of time to ooh and ahh, but today we are on a schedule. So, step back and let the bride-to-be find her bearings, so we can get down to business.”

The last woman to speak had short black hair, flawless make up and was also fashionably dressed, Hermione noted with some reticence. So, it wasn’t just Daphne, as the guest of honor, and Astoria that had a different idea of beachwear than Hermione, it was everyone. Once again, Hermione had the feeling she had missed an important piece of information, but clearly, she would have to make the best of it, if for no other reason than these had been some of Draco’s closest friends at school, and it meant a lot to Draco for her to get to know them.

At that moment, Daphne looked around and found Hermione. She reached for her hand and pulled her to her side. “Everyone, this is Hermione. She’s here as Draco’s guest for the wedding. I asked her to join us, so I hope you’ll all make her feel welcome.”

Hermione smiled at the assembled group, but noticed that she didn’t receive many in return.

The woman with the short black hair didn’t wait before tossing her head and calling, “Let’s go.”

She headed towards a line of villas not far from the beach. Everyone eagerly followed, but Hermione lingered for a moment, taking in the clear turquoise water lapping at the shore. Once she started walking, a woman dropped back from the group to wait for her.

“Hi, Hermione, I’m Tracey.”

Hermione was glad for the company. “It’s nice to meet you, Tracey. Do you know where exactly we are?”

Tracey laughed. “Île du Levant. First time?”

Hermione nodded. “Sounds French.”

“That’s because it is. It’s an island in the Mediterranean, just off the coast of France. There’s a small town of muggles on one side, but the rest is a playground for magical folk. The warding allow us quite a bit of freedom — the muggles think it’s a protected environment, and we get to have fun in the sun.” 

“We’re in France?”

“Mais oui!”

* * *

Draco

Bedfordshire

As Blaise and Draco stepped from the Floo, an elf was there to welcome them, bowing low, and pointing them to the room where their host was already holding court.

The study was filled with wizards and whiskey, and the air was heavy with cigar smoke.

“Ah, the guest of honor has decided to grace us with his presence! And with him, the prodigal son has also returned.”

“Hear, hear.” The crowd cried out.

Someone handed each of them a drink and stuck a cigar in Blaise’s mouth.

“You’ve got to try these, Blaise. They’re rolled between the tits of Russian virgin witches, and sealed by… Well, I’m sure you get the idea. They have _quite_ a lovely flavor.”

Draco bit back a groan. Typical. He wasn’t a fan of their host, Lucian Bole. The man tended to be extravagant in his excesses, as if his display of wealth could make up for the fact that his name wasn’t on the list of the Sacred 28. He was a few years older than Blaise and Draco, but had always tried to ingratiate himself with them.

He looked around the room, seeing a number of familiar faces but also others he didn’t know as well. Of course, Lucian wouldn’t have been content to just host Blaise’s stag party without turning it into a spectacle. Draco wondered if his offer to host was simply an excuse to get his own friends together for one of their infamous benders at his country house. For his part, Draco had never been entirely comfortable with what went on, but this was Blaise’s weekend, and he would play his part, while steering clear of the more questionable aspects of Lucian’s idea of entertainment.

“Hey Draco.”

Draco turned to see his cousin, Ewan. The two embraced. “So good to see you. How are you?”

“Can’t complain. Of course, nothing as exciting as you, though.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, but was interrupted by two others waiting to greet him, his friends, Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle. While their paths didn’t cross as often, they had been loyal friends during their time at Hogwarts. He greeted the two warmly, happy to see them and have a chance to catch up. 

There were several other Slytherins that he had attended school with, primarily members of the Quidditch team spanning various years, including Graham Montague, Titus Mitcham, Miles Bletchley, and Asad Shafiq. He nodded at the others assembled, wondering exactly how long everyone had already been drinking.

It was going to be a long night.

Lucian was already on the move, standing on top of a chair, so everyone could see him. He cast a Sonorous charm, although the room was such that everyone would have heard his voice without it. “Good gentlemen, I am pleased that we are assembled here at Cranfield Court once again. As you know, my house is your house. All I ask is that you join me in having a fête that Blaise here will never forget. It’s his last weekend as a single man. Let’s help him go out in a manner appropriate for the scion of House Zabini.”

Draco noticed Blaise stiffen out of the corner of his eye, reacting to the words of their host. There was no real House Zabini, and Lucian was well aware of that. Blaise’s father was a pureblood of Italian heritage who had swept Blaise’s mother off of her feet, and had left her pregnant and nearly disgraced when he left her for another woman. Blaise’s mother had a spine of steel, however, and had never let others see how the circumstances of Blaise’s birth may have affected her. Given her beauty and her intellect, it wasn’t long before she found another spouse. Indeed, Blaise’s mother had remarried several times after his father had left. However, she had never changed her last name, although her vaults continued to grow with the untimely death of a number of her subsequent husbands.

The Zabini family had wealth, properties, and all the accoutrements of pureblood society — indeed, they had more money than most — but that didn’t mean that they weren’t subject to the slights of a society that constantly jockeyed for position and prestige. Blaise’s upbringing was a bit of a sore subject, albeit one he was not at all in control of. It was one of the ways that he was different from his pureblood peers, not having grown up in a home with both parents. And, he suspected that, too, may have played a part in the Greengrass’s reluctance to agree to the betrothal. Lucian’s comment was a low blow and everyone in the room knew it. As always, the snake pit was kindness at a cost — reminding you of who you were or weren’t.

Draco decided to speak up and break the tension. He raised his glass. “Come now, Bole. You expect me to believe this swill is the best you can do? If we’re going to be celebrating, at least you can give me something worth drinking, unless your father has cut back on your allowance.”

Lucian’s eyes flashed at Draco’s words, but then his face broke into a grin. “Spoken like a Malfoy.” He snapped his fingers and an elf appeared. “Rocco, bring up the Ogden’s Reserve. We can’t disappoint the palate of a _true_ connoisseur.”

At this, the room erupted into chatter once more, and Lucian gathered a few of his cronies and headed outside, not sparing a look for the guest of honor.

o0o

Cranfield Court was a gentlemen’s playground, set up for any number of pastimes. Among other things, the estate boasted land for hunting, a range for shooting clays, and even a large field for pick up Quidditch.

When Draco was younger, he found it quite exciting to be able to spend time in the company of older Slytherins who were all too happy to include the Malfoy heir and his friends in their drunken debauchery. The difference was that somewhere along the way, Draco grew out of that stage, but they seemed to be still in it.

He turned to Blaise, “Pick your poison. What do you want to do first?”

“Go home?” Blaise responded in a quiet voice.

“You know he’s a first-class wanker, Blaise. Don’t let him get to you.”

Blaise took a deep breath. “I know. And I won’t. So, let’s say I beat you shooting clays, first.”

“You can try.” Draco smirked.

The two took turns using their wands to obliterate the clay targets as they were set aloft with a well-placed Bombarda, settling into an easy rhythm.

Draco thought it funny that the groom was being left alone given his status as the weekend’s guest of honor, but it confirmed his suspicion that Blaise’s stag night was little more than an excuse for Bole to show off than anything else. For his part, he was perfectly fine catching up with Blaise, but he wondered what it meant that others seemed to be following that plan.

He needn’t have worried, though. As they walked back towards the house, Graham Montague came flying over and stopped when he saw them.

“Oi! Get your arses to the broom shed. We’re hitting the field.”

Draco turned to Blaise and saw a grin to match his. Quidditch. Now that was something you couldn’t do in New York City.

* * *

Cormac and Cho

Edinburgh

Cormac checked the time and yelled up the stairs. “Hurry up and get down here. They’ll be here in a few minutes.”

Predictably, no one responded.

He huffed and walked upstairs to find out what was taking his family so long. The reporter and photographer from _Witch Weekly_ would be arriving shortly, and he wanted everyone to be in position. Conveying the right image was everything, and Cormac considered himself a master at positioning. Ensuring the public remembered him was important; it was the type of thing that got you access to the right restaurants and box seats to quidditch matches, not to mention blow jobs from pretty witches. People were far more inclined to give you special treatment when you regularly reminded them of how special you truly were.

Things needed to go well. He already had to call in a favor with the society editor to make sure he would have a spot in the magazine, and he didn’t want any reports getting back to her that his family had been anything less than polished and perfect.

_“No dice, Cormac. Next week’s issue is focused on the wedding.”_

_“Look, Penelope. I know Cho would never come out and ask, but she’d really take it as a personal favor if you’d find a spot for us. I know your readers always look forward to seeing what the Malfoys are up to. I think a spread on what we’re wearing to the wedding would fit right in with next week’s theme.”_

_“You’re not a Malfoy,_ McLaggen _.” He could see her rolling her eyes even through the flames. Never mind her reticence, he hadn’t yet met a woman he couldn’t charm — and he still had a card to play._

_“Close enough.” He waved off her comment. “Besides, if you do this for me, I’ll make sure to give you the inside scoop on my first cousin, whose last name, as you know, is Malfoy.” He swallowed his distaste at having to say that._

_Penelope sighed and Cormac grinned, knowing he had won this round._

_“Fine. I’ll give you one page in_ this _week’s issue, but it means I’ll have to send someone out tomorrow to meet the deadline. Can you support that?”_

_He grinned. “Anything for you, love.”_

_“I’m going to hold you to your end of the deal, Cormac. Malfoy’s been away for two years now and I’ve heard he’s brought an American witch home with him. I definitely want to know what’s going on there.”_

_Cormac gave a well-practiced shrug of indifference. He had Penelope where he wanted her. “Well, you know how private he is, but we’re family. And you know, he may not be in the running for Britain’s most eligible wizard much longer.” Penelope’s eyes widened. He didn’t know it to be true, but a little more confusion in that regard could only help his case with his Uncle Lucius, given Draco was actually parading around with the American. Idiot._

_“I’ll send Parvati by around 1. Alright?”_

_“Of course. We’ll be ready.” He sat back and closed the Floo connection, mostly satisfied with the outcome of the call. He would have preferred to be in the wedding issue, but he could use this. Coverage was coverage, after all._

He wasn’t surprised to find his children both with their noses in a book… again.

“Aileen — don’t sit in that dress, you’ll get it wrinkled.”

“Calum, are you sure those robes are long enough? They look too short. And your shoes…” He scowled and snapped his fingers, calling for an elf.

“Those shoes look terrible. Either shine them properly or find a different pair for him. And, do something about those robes.”

He didn’t wait for a reply before heading off in search of his wife, yelling for her before he reached their room. “I hope you did a better job getting yourself ready than you did the children. Calum’s dress robes are short. I told you to get him a new set. We don’t want people to think we can’t afford them.”

His wife called out to him from the dressing room where she was finishing her preparations. “His robes are fine. He’s 6. No one will be paying him any attention. There’s nothing wrong with his current robes.”

Cormac shook his head. His wife didn’t understand how these things worked. Everything needed to be just right. “Cho, I’m half Malfoy, which makes our children a quarter Malfoy; you know this, we have appearances to keep up.”

Cho walked out of the dressing room, unmoved by his comments.

He groaned. “Ugh. We should have borrowed some of the Malfoy jewels. It would have been a perfect opportunity to put something on display. What you have on looks so plain.”

“Stuff it, Cormac. We’re fine. Be glad I’m consenting to this foolishness at all.” Cho bristled as she walked out of the room.

No one understood the importance of things like this, not like him. He headed back downstairs to wait for his guests.

At one o’clock on the dot, the Floo lit up and Parvati Patil appeared with a photographer in tow.

Cho smiled warmly as the women exchanged greetings, “Parvati, it’s been too long! How are you?”

“Wonderful. Happy to get to _unexpectedly_ travel all the way to Scotland today. At least I get to see you.” She said all this without acknowledging Cormac’s presence in the room. Cormac was used to getting the cold shoulder from her. That was okay, his turn with her in the broom closet back at school hadn’t been that memorable.

The photographer stuck out his hand. “Good to see you again.”

Cormac looked affronted. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

“Colin Creevey. Went to Hogwarts. Was in Gryffindor also.” The man looked at him expectantly.

Cormac narrowed his eyes, trying to recognize the man, but quickly gave up. He clearly wasn’t anyone he needed to know. “Ah… you must have been several years under me. I don’t recall.”

Colin was unamused. “I took photos back then, too, even covered the Quidditch matches.”

Cho turned back to the two men, shaking her head. “Don’t pay him any attention, Creevey. He doesn’t remember anyone who didn’t wear a skirt.”

Parvati looked uncomfortable for a moment before regaining her composure and asking Cho about a piece of art that they had recently acquired. Perhaps she remembered their turn in the broom closet better than he did.

At least the photo shoot went well, other than having to corral his children to look their best in front of the camera. They showed no energy and looked bored to be there, and Cho wasn’t helping. At one point, he resorted to pinching Calum’s leg, although that caused the boy to sniffle, rather than make him more alert. And for Cormac’s effort, Cho elbowed him in the ribs, right as the shutter flashed. He scowled in response, which also most likely caught in the shot. Cormac motioned for the photographer to take another.

He needed the photo to be the perfect image of his family. Chances were his mother would see this spread. Hell, perhaps even Grand-Mère might take notice, although he didn’t think she had a subscription. He’d just have to send her a copy along with a note.

After the interview had concluded and the house was quiet once again, a thought occurred to Cormac.“Do you know what my mother is wearing to the wedding?” He asked his wife.

“No. Should I?”

Of course she should know, she should make it her business to know, as it would really make a bigger statement if the entire family coordinated their robes. You think she would have thought of this, being a Ravenclaw and all. No matter, he would figure it out. It was always left to him to stay on top of details such as these.

While his first thought was to send his mother an owl, he decided that the Floo would bring more immediate results.

“Mother!” He called, expecting to find her in the drawing room at this time of day. He was correct. She looked up from what she was doing.

“Cormac. Son. To what do I owe this pleasure.”

“Hello, Mother. I was just going over our preparations for the wedding. What are you planning on wearing?”

His mother looked amused. “To be honest, I hadn’t given it much thought yet. It’s not as if anyone will be looking at me; I’m not the bride.”

“Mother, you’re a Malfoy. People are always looking at you,” he deadpanned. “Don’t you think it would make quite a statement if our robes are coordinated?”

His mother chuckled. “That seems a little excessive.”

“I don’t know about that.” He dismissed. “Where’s Ewan? Let’s see what he’s thinking of wearing.”

“Your brother’s not here, Cormac. He’s away for the weekend.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, and honestly, I’m surprised to see you at home. I thought for sure you’d be at the stag party, too.” His mother gave him a look of amusement.

“Stag party? You mean Blaise’s stag party is this weekend? And Ewan of all people is there?”

“I guess it must have been a Slytherin thing. Sorry, dear. When I see him, I’ll be sure to tell him you asked about his robes. Say hi to Cho and the children for me.” She waved him off, in a way that he knew he had been dismissed.

“Bollocks.” Cormac sat back on his heels, seething. He had played Quidditch opposite Zabini and he was also the first cousin of his best man, who would surely be in attendance. But instead of Cormac, his little brother was getting to hobnob at what would surely be quite an event, with witches and whiskey a-plenty, but here he was at home with nothing but soot on his robes and his hand to keep him company.

Life was definitely unfair.


	11. Narcissa/Hermione/Theo

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continued love to FrappuBean and FandomFairytales. Y'all are the best.

Narcissa

London

Narcissa’s hope had been short-lived; reports continued to trickle in about Draco and the usurper being seen together. Furthermore, her research had turned up only the most basic information.

The woman was a professor at Ilvermorny, one of the younger ones on staff. She had been hired almost immediately after her finishing exams, as she had been doing rather advanced work while still a student. She was quite an ingenue with Transfiguration, reportedly mastering Conjuration before her fifth year. Indeed, her entire educational career had been nothing short of remarkable. The headmaster at Ilvermorny had been effusive in his praise of Miss Granger when she had made a polite (albeit insincere) inquiry after her.

She almost felt a pang of wistfulness, or perhaps begrudging admiration, upon learning of some of the young woman’s accomplishments. Narcissa, herself, had been a good student and achieved top marks in both Potions and Charms. Every so often she wondered what she might have done, if she had lived a different life, one that wasn’t predicated on teas and social events. It wasn’t that what she had learned at school didn’t serve her; on the contrary, it did. But, there had always been something satisfying about working in the potions lab and earning a nod from the instructor when her potion turned out exactly how it should.

Granted, excellence in academia was not what had been expected of Narcissa; it surely was not what she was raised for. However, she had relished the artistry of Potion-making. It was far more than blindly following a recipe. To make perfect potions, you couldn’t just follow the instructions printed in the textbook; no, it was more of a subtle art, requiring in depth knowledge of the ingredients and techniques used. You needed to improvise and feel the subtle ways the ingredients could be manipulated to coax just a little bit more from them — crushing the sopophorous bean instead of cutting it to get it to release more potent juices or using wild scurvygrass, instead of cultivated, to add an extra pop to an Invigoration Draught without adding unwanted side-effects. 

It was like that with people, too. If you paid attention to someone, you could read them and subtly shift their focus one way or another — away from what they wanted from you and towards what you wanted from them. Or you could give a compliment designed to make the receiver feel they were in your confidence, all the while holding them at arm’s length.

Yes, manipulation of people worked the same way.

While all purebloods, particularly the Slytherins, tended to have some modicum of skill in this area, given the need to be socially adept to navigate society, Narcissa had such talent in spades. It had served her well over the years, and so, it was natural that she had put her efforts to use, trying to uncover information about her son’s love interest. Unfortunately, there hadn’t been much information to find, outside of her school record and her employment at Ilvermorny.

The girl was known to be a muggle-born, the daughter of what seemed to be a rather unremarkable woman, but there wasn’t any corresponding information about her father. It made Narcissa wonder. While it was possible for two muggles to have a magical child, it certainly didn’t happen often; and even then, the appearance of magic usually could be traced back to a squib. If the girl was as talented as everyone believed, it was an even more unlikely scenario. At the same time, the Statute of Secrecy was so carefully observed in America, there were fewer liaises between wizards or witches and unsuspecting muggles. At the very least, it was curious.

Meanwhile, Draco had still not made an appearance. Narcissa wondered if he might be purposely staying away. She needed more information on this girl, who Hermione Granger was outside of her resumé. She needed to see her, meet her and look her in the eyes; find out what her intentions were. Most importantly, she needed to figure out just how the woman had managed to get her hooks into her son — and what she could do to extricate them.

If Draco wasn’t going to bring her by on his own, she’d make sure he had a reason.

That, she could do. Narcissa reached for a piece of stationery on which to write an invitation for dinner at Holland Park. It was a perfect opportunity to welcome her son home; it was really just a bonus that it would be at her house, with her friends around. She smiled thinking it through.

Put Draco back in his element and they would see just how Miss Granger would fare.

* * *

Hermione

Île du Levant

After acquainting herself with her villa, Hermione donned her swimsuit and headed to the beach. She had some free time before dinner. She looked around and didn’t see any of the other women, so she decided to take up residence under one of the umbrellas and enjoy the sound of the water. It wasn’t California, but it wasn’t a bad view either. In fact, the color of the water was absolutely enticing. But first, she was happy to lie there for a while and let her mind drift.

As had been at the dinner at the Manor, there also were names to remember, but thankfully, it was a more manageable number this time. Tracey had given her a quick rundown as they caught up with the group. In addition to Daphne and Astoria, she learned that the woman with the short black hair was Pansy. Tracey also told pointed out Millie and Agnes, the other two women with the group, and someone else was supposed to be joining them later on. Hermione was thankful for the information.

“Do you know Daphne from school?”

“Oh yes, we all went to Hogwarts, although Astoria was a couple of years below us and Agnes finished a year ahead, but the rest of us spent seven years together.”

As they neared the villa that Pansy had called out as hers, Tracey leaned in and asked in a low voice, “I hear you’re a muggle-born. Is that true?”

How word of her parentage had reached this group, Hermione wasn’t certain, but she nodded. She had nothing to be ashamed of, although she was unsure why it was a relevant topic of conversation.

Tracey paused at the end of the walkway leading to the door and smiled. “I’m a half-blood. My dad’s a muggle.”

She then turned and walked off, waving. “I’ll see you later, Hermione.”

Was blood status such a big deal in the British wizarding community?

Regardless of what Ginny had said, she couldn’t remember when her blood status had last been an issue.Sure, there were things that she didn’t know, given she hadn’t grown up in a magical family, but she had devoured everything about magic once she was exposed to it. She had been at the top of her class, for goodness sake! And while there weren’t many muggle-borns, they weren’t that uncommon, either. It was simply a matter of genetics. Magical people had come from No-Majs, after all; and the same mutation that had created the first witches and wizards still manifested from time to time. In any event, all the interest struck her as odd.

Eventually, the sound of the waves lapping at the shore began to lull her to sleep.

o0o

Dinner was served on one of the many open air pavilions. It was proving to be quite a proper affair. There was more cutlery set out at her place setting than Hermione had ever seen before and she couldn’t remember which course of the meal they were currently on. The food was delicious, but she had been on the fringe of the conversation the entire evening.

The other women were talking animatedly about any number of people that Hermione didn’t know, so it wasn’t as if she could jump in. The parts that she did catch seemed outlandish. Pansy, for one, seemed to have many strong opinions, and the other women at the table seemed to give her a level of deference.

“Did you see what Viola Richmond wore to the auction?”

“Yes, wasn’t it the same dress she wore a month ago?”

“She’s barmy if she thought it would go unnoticed. It’s not like she doesn’t have a suitable allowance. Granted, it’s less than mine, but if she can’t keep herself dressed properly, you wonder what’s going on.”

“I guess if you’re dating a Macmillan, it doesn’t matter so much.”

“Well, their estate has been divvied up, but isn’t his side the one holding most of the wealth?”

“That’s what some say, but I’ve never really seen any evidence of that. It’s not like they host any of the important events. I can’t even remember having even been invited to the Macmillan estate since we were young… Not that I’d go.”

“Well, they haven’t had daughters on that side in a while, so no reason for them to, if there’s no one coming out.”

“The Malfoys almost never have daughters, but they’ve always hosted the New Year’s Ball.”

Malfoy. Hermione's ears perked up; at least that was a name she knew. She listened to see if they would say more, but the conversation shifted to other topics — namely, what each of them had purchased in Paris recently.

This was definitely a world she was not a part of: shopping in Paris, charity balls and auctions, and so much gossip being bandied about; she wondered what to make of it all. She’d given up trying to follow the exclamations and giggles and instead continued to nurse her glass of wine.

It was with some surprise that Hermione heard her name called several minutes later.

“So, Hermione, I hear you teach?”

She looked up to find the source. It was Tracey again, trying to include her in the conversation.

“Yes.” She responded. “I teach Transfiguration at Ilvermorny.”

“You mean like that old bat, McGonagall?” Pansy responded, and the rest of the table broke out in laughter.

Hermione was puzzled.Minerva McGonagall was a legend in the world of Transfiguration, although she had chosen to teach younger students. Hermione’s admiration for the woman, particularly her ability to continue to contribute to the field while teaching at the secondary school level, was part of what had convinced Hermione to take the job at Ilvermorny, instead of directly pursuing more theoretical work.

“Minerva McGonagall? Yes. What’s wrong with her.”

Pansy looked scandalized. “She’s dreadful! Just dreadful. But, I guess if you’re into that sort of thing. “ She waved her hand dismissively and turned to the person on her right, effectively ending further talk on the subject.

Tracey leaned over. “I really liked Transfiguration when I was in school.”

She gave Hermione a small smile before turning away.

By the time they reached the dessert course, Hermione was ready to get up from the table and leave. She’d heard more than enough gossip for one day, but suddenly the focus of the conversation shifted to one of the women at the table. She could feel the emotions rising, and felt it best to sit for a few minutes longer.

“Millie, I don’t know why you expected it to be any different. You knew Greg was not the sharpest quill, but it’s not like you have many suitable options. You need to accept his proposal.”

Millie blanched at this statement and ducked her head. Hermione didn’t know who Greg was, but that seemed harsh — and limiting.

Hermione watched Tracey lean over to comfort Millie. Astoria seemed far more interested in her wine, while Daphne spoke up.

“Pans. That wasn’t nice.”

Pansy was unruffled.

“Why should I lie? No one here is under the impression that Millie would be marrying him for his brains. Everyone knows his Befuddlement Draught has always had a little too much sneezewort. I just hope that he makes up for it in other ways. Besides, I don’t know what you’re holding out for; after all, it’s not like you’re waiting on an offer from Dra…”

The end of her sentence was lost in the scrape of Millie’s chair, as she suddenly stood and excused herself.

However, it wasn't difficult to figure out what she had been saying, given Pansy was now looking directly at Hermione.

The rest of the table was silent until Astoria put her glass down and said loudly, “So, what do you think the boys are doing right now?”

Hermione knew a diversion when she heard one. The others at the table were all too eager to pick up this new thread of conversation.

“If I know Blaise, Firewhiskey and Quidditch, hopefully not in that order." Daphne laughed.

“I wouldn’t count on that being all of it.” Pansy said knowingly. "You know how these things go. After all, I still hear stories of what went on at Marcus's stag night."

Astoria narrowed her eyes, but for her part, Daphne seemed unbothered by the assertion.

"That's not Blaise's scene."

“Do you think they’ll have sex witches?” Tracey asked timidly.

Pansy nodded vigorously. “It’s at Lucian’s. Of course they have sex witches. Ladies, don’t be surprised if your men come home with some new tricks. Although, I can say from personal experience that some of them were already well-trained, if you know what I mean. Right, Hermione?” She leveled a cruel smile in her direction.

Hermione sat stunned. She didn’t know what Pansy meant, nor could she picture Draco having random sex, regardless of the context.

“Not Blaise,” Daphne said. “He wouldn’t do that.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure, Daph.” Pansy replied smugly, while continuing to hold Hermione’s gaze. “Besides, it’s the way of things, as you know. The ladies hold down the social side of things, and we look the other way when there are _dalliances_.”

Hermione was unsure what to say or do. Pansy seemed to be trying to make a point, one that involved her and Draco.

Thankfully, Agnes jumped in to fill the silence that which served to break the rising tension.

“Speaking of sex witches, did you hear about Ewan McLaggen?” All the other heads turned to look at her.

“Apparently, he’s fallen head-over-heels for Lavender Brown!”

The table broke out in uproarious laughter, but Pansy responded in disgust.

“Who does she think she is, trying to take one of our boys? She’s not a snake, and he really should know better.”

Hermione had heard enough, she pushed her chair back and excused herself from the table stating she was going for a walk on the beach. 

o0o

By the time Hermione began to retrace her steps along the edge of the water, it had started to get dark. Fortunately, she could see the glow from the lights of the villas in the distance.

“I see I was not the only one who thought this was a perfect evening for a walk.”

Someone was walking towards her in the dim light, but it wasn’t someone she recognized.

The woman spoke again. “You must be Hermione. Do you mind if I join you?” 

Hermione was not surprised, since everyone seemed to know who she was. This must be the other member of their party.

“I am." She affirmed. "And you are?”

The woman smiled warmly. “I’m Selina Nott, Theo’s cousin. He told me to keep an eye out for you.”

Hermione relaxed instantly. Selina seemed to be a friendly face. And, unlike everyone else who was sporting the latest couture, she was wearing a simple sundress, much like Hermione’s.

“I’m sorry, were you with us earlier? I don’t remember you from the portkey or dinner.”

Selina smiled. “No, I just arrived a little while ago. I was tied up at work, so I couldn’t make it earlier. Plus, I live in France, so I was able to Apparate, instead of taking a portkey.”

Work. It was surprising how much one word could say. Hermione had never thought much of it, but that was before being thrust into a world where it seemed that just about everyone had family vaults and no reason to be gainfully employed. Tracey said that she worked at the British Ministry, but everyone else seemed to treat their social obligations as full-time employment. It was a far cry from her life in the States.

“What do you do?”

“I’m in healer training.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “Wow. I bet you stay busy.”

“I do, but it was important for me to make an appearance here too, so here I am.” 

The two women continued their conversation as they strolled along the beach, enjoying the evening breeze and the sound of the ocean.

“So, you’re Draco and Theo’s cousin?” Hermione questioned, trying to put the pieces together.

Selina laughed. “No, just Theo’s. His father and my father were brothers. But I know Draco, also. It would be hard not to, the wizarding world isn’t that big.”

“Did you go to Hogwarts, too?” Hermione asked. Selina didn’t seem to have a French accent, and Hermione wondered how long she had lived in France.

Selina’s answer surprised her. “No, I went to Beauxbâtons. I came of age after my mother had left England for the continent. She preferred I stay closer to home, what with everything going on in England at the time.”

“So, do you know everyone else as well?”

“Most by name, but no, I don’t move in the same circles as these girls, which is perfectly fine with me.” Selina waved her hand towards the pavilion from where they could head music playing, punctuated by laughter every now and then.

The two women stopped and sat at one of the cabanas. The sky was clear and the stars filled the sky.

Hermione was trying to understand. She didn’t want to offend Selina, but the other woman seemed down to earth, so she took a chance.

“But, you said you’re a Nott, right? And that, at least from everything I’ve learned so far, should mean that you don’t have to work.”

Selina sighed. “That’s true, in part. My father was the second son. And it was Theo’s dad who controlled the estate.”

“Was? Is he…?”

“Dead? Yes.”

“I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“Not to worry. My father has been gone for quite a while now.” She waved off Hermione’s concern.

“In any event,” Selina continued, “my mother’s family has always worked. Yes, there’s plenty of wealth, but it was gained less through familial inheritance and more through direct acquisition, I guess you could say. And while my mother has had a number of husbands, that is not a life I aspire to; I’ve always wanted to have a career, so I chose to study healing. Instead of helping others through my donations, I prefer a more direct approach.” She grinned.

Hermione was impressed. Healing was quite a demanding profession. From what she had seen so far, she liked Selina, and it sounded like she and Draco had made some similar choices in their lives.

“Would you understand if I said it all seems a little odd?” Hermione ventured. “I know in my head that some people don’t have to work, but it seems so foreign to me. I don’t know what I would do if I didn’t have a way to feel productive?”

“Not odd at all.” Selina laughed. “I guess if all you’ve ever known is how to spend your family’s money, perhaps you are less concerned about developing marketable skills. To be fair, though, there are plenty of philanthropic endeavours to be involved with, for those who choose to be. And, predictably, charity functions are the bread and butter for this world -- planning them, hosting them, attending them, or later dissecting them.”

From what Hermione had witnessed over dinner, Selina was spot on with her assessment.

Selina stood. “I think I’m going to turn in. I had an early start this morning.”

“Sounds like a good idea. I don’t think I’ll be heading back to the pavilion tonight.”

“Wise choice. Good night.”

When Hermione returned to her villa, she was pleased to see that the bed had been turned down and there were chocolates on her nightstand. The idea of a sweet treat, especially a French chocolate, sounded good, so she popped one in her mouth. However, as soon as she did, her stomach began to gurgle. She barely made it to the bathroom before losing the entire contents of her stomach.

* * *

Theo

Suffolk

There were few things that Theo hated more than the immature posturing of men with more money than sense. It was never a good combination. With one’s defenses lowered or at least one’s inhibitions loosened, all manner of things were likely to come tumbling out of one’s mouth — even in the midst of the snake pit.

Because he was rather good looking, intelligent but with a quick wit, and also had a healthy vault, not to mention being only once removed from the Malfoy line, Theo had often been either a listening ear or, at times, a half-hearted conquest. However, with few exceptions, Theo carefully picked those with whom he shared his time, his energy, or his bed.

For the most part, Theo took the confidences, relished in the secrets, and only occasionally indulged in any carnal pursuits - primarily with a few select members of his house who while they openly pursued women, tended to have a more diverse set of interests after a few drinks.

It was with some trepidation, and all of the above in mind that Theo prepared to head to Blaise’s stag party. Lucian Bole was one of those who definitely had more money than sense, and with the alcohol flowing freely, you never knew who would all of a sudden find that they wanted to explore their “gay side” with Theo.

Ordinarily, Theo wouldn’t say no to a no-strings attached one-off. Married men tended to be good options for this, as they had plenty already on their mind and taking up their energy. They were interested only in the sex — what they couldn’t get at home, whether due to interest or equipment. It made for an easy entanglement. Both parties knew what they were getting, and there were neither hard feelings nor awkward moments following, at least on Theo’s part. He was sure that some of his partners envied his single status, having been pushed into marriage for one reason or another, but again, fulfillment was seldom part of the equation in pureblood marriages; that’s what the restroom at the White Wyvern was for.

But those weren’t the only things on his mind. Instead, his thoughts again had turned to Harry and what to do about him, particularly in light of the final words they had shared. His head was telling him to do nothing at all.

Let Harry sit and stew. Theo had no use for him, but his heart… His heart wanted something else entirely.

So far, his head had been winning. He hadn’t reached out to Harry since leaving Godric’s Hollow. And surprisingly, Harry hadn’t reached out to him. It was smart of the man to give him some space to figure things out. Harry had made his interest plain, and so, the Quaffle was in Theo’s hands, so to speak. He just hadn’t decided what he wanted to do with it yet.

Head or heart. Did he want to see Harry again? Yes. If he was being honest with himself, he very much did. His heart knew all too well how easy it would be to let the man inside once more. His head, though, was another matter; it continually sifted through all the possibilities before him, of both happiness and heartache. He knew things could be great between them, even in the face of his trepidations. Theo had been alone for such a very long time. He had already given up on finding someone who he was truly compatible with. It was easier to be alone, consciously uncoupled, rather than find someone who fulfilled more than his physical needs. But Harry…

Theo got up from his chair; it wouldn’t do to continue to dwell on such things, and he had done far too much of that already. He took a deep breath, fortifying himself against the oncoming insanity. By this time, he would be fashionably late; Draco and Blaise would already be in attendance. With any luck, he hoped to find them without having to fend off any drunken advances. But at Lucian’s, all bets were off.

o0o

As Theo walked towards the study, he noticed how quiet the house was. Thankfully, that meant the majority of the activities were still taking place _outside_. He poured himself a tumbler of the good whiskey and went in search of his friends.

He found a place outside that gave him a good vantage point over the surrounding grounds; although it wasn’t hard to spot much of the assembled group, given the brooms in the air as well as the choice words being carried on the wind.

He felt someone come stand beside him. Greg Goyle. He turned and gave him a nod. Theo had never understood Draco’s fascination with Crabbe and Goyle when they were younger, but he bore the man no ill will. He knew Draco’s interest had more to do with the prompting of Draco’s parents to make friends with the boys than anything real. And when Draco found neither Crabbe nor Goyle to be particularly interesting, he was content to use them as his lackeys, more than anything. It gave Draco a certain cachet that he seemed to have brought his own personal bodyguards with him to Hogwarts. Of course, that was in the prime of Draco’s git phase, which Theo was glad had come to an end. In his early days at Hogwarts, Draco had believed that he was worthy of all the extra attention that others showered on him, which had strained their relationship at school for a time.

For his part, Theo had been content to stay on the sidelines. He had never been interested in the spotlight. He had felt at least a little bad for Crabbe and Goyle, given they had far more brawn than brains. But, even if they weren’t the most cunning, they were both endlessly loyal. They had made good housemates, but truthfully, Theo had wondered if Goyle wouldn’t have been better off in Hufflepuff, but for his family’s ties to Slytherin.

The two stood in silence for several minutes, watching the antics on the Quidditch pitch.

“I hear you’ve made an offer for Millie.”

The man responded with a quick nod.

“Good on you, Greg. I know you’ve fancied her for ages.”

“She hasn’t accepted yet.”

“Oh.” Theo was taken aback. He hadn’t expected that, but all things considered, it wasn’t surprising. The Bulstrodes, after all, were Sacred Twenty-Eight, and Millie’s parents would be carefully weighing whether any other offers for their daughter would be forthcoming.

Not that any would be, Theo thought. A match between Millie and Greg made sense, both in terms of family holdings and attachments. The bulk of the Bulstrodes wealth didn’t pass through Millie’s side of the family. Meanwhile, most of her parents’ wealth would pass to their son, instead of their daughter. But, Millie would come with her own modest vaults to compliment the portion that Greg would receive from his family; and while the Goyle family business wasn’t as large or flashy as some, it was an honest living.

Perhaps more significantly, what Greg may not possess in intelligence, he would more than make up for in providing a home for Millie. Unlike so many others, Theo thought the man would cherish his wife. And while they might live more simply than most in their peer group, he suspected the two might also achieve that rarest of qualities in a pureblood marriage — they may actually be happy together. Or even better, might learn to love each other. What a concept. While Theo’s head scoffed at the sheer frivolity of it, his heart was glad that another person might be able to find purchase in that most elusive of emotions.

Theo was standing here currently precisely because of it. Blaise and Daphne had been able to persist in the face of the actions of her parents because they truly loved each other; and soon, they would be married. Even Draco, for all his wanderings, had found a partner in Hermione. He, too, was in love, although it was also complicated by who Draco was and who Hermione wasn’t. Seeing the two of them together, he saw how Draco had matured into his own man, one who had followed his heart and opened himself to possibilities that he wouldn’t have even considered not all that long ago. Theo knew that bringing Hermione on this trip wasn’t just an idle fancy on his cousin’s part, even if Draco hadn’t yet admitted it to himself. He suspected that Draco was standing on a precipice, deciding whether he would follow his own heart, even in the face of familial expectations and obligations.

Ah, love was a tricky business. Theo reached over and patted Goyle on the back.

“It’ll work out, Greg.”

Theo turned and strode inside, making his way back to the study with a new level of determination. He opened the small writing desk, hoping to find it was stocked, which it was.

He took a quill in hand and with precise letters penned one word that, if he, too, was lucky, might make all the difference.

_Okay._

Sealing it into an envelope that was much too large, he went in search of an owl.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...when you are writing a Dramione fic and Theo steals your heart every time. 
> 
> I've got so much love for that boy.
> 
> Always appreciate hearing from you, dear readers. Thanks so much for the love you are showing for this fic.


	12. Draco/Hermione

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FrappuBean and FandomFairytales - thanks for all that you do. Really.

Draco

Bedfordshire

The library at Cranfield Court wasn’t much to speak of. After all, the estate wasn’t outfitted for any serious pursuits, being a gentlemen’s playground and all. Still, it was a place where those who weren’t interested in partaking in the evening’s entertainment could find respite without constantly having copious amounts of alcohol, potions, or a pair of tits shoved in one’s face.

As the evening dragged on, Draco, Blaise and Theo found they had commandeered the room as their personal camp, only venturing out to find refills of food or drink, as needed. It had been a long time since the three of them had been together, and they quickly found themselves lost in conversation, happy for a chance to slip into the patterns of their youth.

Blaise, the most recent one to venture out, had just returned and shook his head. “I can’t believe there are people out there taking those potions. What a bad idea.”

“Right? Seems like Slytherin 101.”

Draco laughed. While he hadn’t imbibed, he had lifted one to see if he could figure out what particular merriment was being passed around that evening. 

“Ahh, it’s not much more than a strengthening tonic with a mild aphrodisiac thrown in. Something you could find around Knockturn pretty easily. You know, for the older wizard who needs a bit of help with his stamina.” 

“You mean like your father, Draco?” Theo quipped.

All three laughed heartily.

“I don’t know about you two, but I don’t need anything clouding my judgment at the moment. The firewhisky is plenty. And I certainly have no use for a sex witch.”

“Did you see Marcus out there?”

Blaise groaned. “I’ve purposefully tried to keep blinders on. I’d like to be able to answer honestly, if Daph asks me anything, but I sure hope she doesn’t.”

Theo, however, had no such issue and was happy to drop dime. “Oh, I saw him, or at least the parts of him that weren’t being sat on by a witch. His face was otherwise occupied, though.” He raised an eyebrow in judgement.

Blaise put his face in his hands. “Poor Astoria.”

Theo shook his head. “No, Astoria is going to be just fine. She went into this with her eyes wide open. She knew what she was getting into.”

“But that doesn’t mean that you have that type of freedom, Blaise; Daphne would have your head, or at least your balls.” Draco cautioned.

“Nor do you, my friend.” Blaise retorted. “Something tells me your witch wouldn’t be a fan.”

Draco shook his head and laughed. “No, she wouldn’t. Not that I’m even interested in what’s being offered out there. I know where my bread is buttered… How did we end up as the ones opting out of the antics? Aren’t we supposed to be the ones causing them?” He mused.

“Right. To some, you were supposed to be married to Pansy by now.”

“Gods. What a nightmare that would have been.” Draco shuddered. “How is Pans? You’ve seen her, I’m sure.” He nodded at Blaise.

“Exactly as you would imagine. Still clawing her way to the top of pureblood society.”

“I know I dodged a bullet there.”

“Are you sure you’ve dodged it?” Theo mused. “She hasn’t accepted a contract yet. Perhaps she’s still holding out waiting for you.”

“Well, clearly, that’s not going to happen.”

Blaise leaned in. “Why? Is Witch Weekly’s second favorite most eligible bachelor going to be off the market? Is this thing with Hermione more serious than you’ve been letting on?”

“I’m plenty serious about Hermione. You both know that. In any event, Pansy would drive me barmy. I couldn’t do it.”

“Hmm…” Theo steepled his fingers. “But does Pansy know that, Draco?”

“It’s been a long time since Pansy had any reason to think of me as anything more than a friend. A very long time. If you recall, she didn’t take kindly to our forays into the muggle world; that was when I realized our paths were diverging.”

“I haven’t forgotten. But, when has anyone’s interest or convenience ever been a driving factor in forming a union between two families, Draco? Other than this one over here, of course.” Theo inclined his head towards Blaise.

“Hey, not everyone can have the luck of Prince Charming.”

The banter died off as the door suddenly opened. The three waited to see who had invaded their sanctuary, but breathed easy seeing Ewan slide inside the room.

His face lit up to see them. “I like a good party, but that’s a bit much, even for me.”

“What? You’re not tied up somewhere?” Theo laughed.

“You kid, but there’s a room upstairs…”

Draco’s eyes went wide for a moment. Clearly, things had changed since he was last home. This was not what he had in mind for Blaise’s send off.

He turned to him. “You ready to bail?”

Blaise nodded. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Both Theo and Ewan bobbed their heads in agreement. “What about Greg or Vince?”

Theo shook his head. “Last I saw Greg, he was holding his own. Besides, they’re both grown men.”

“So how are we going to do this? I can't just walk out of my own stag night.” Blaise wondered aloud.

Draco smiled. “Sure you can. Leave it to me.”

The four men strode briskly towards the Floo room, with only Draco pausing along the way to look for their host. He spotted him sprawled on one of the lounges in the study with two different witches administering to his needs.

“Bole.”

The wizard’s eyes were heavy-lidded, probably from the combination of potions, alcohol, and perhaps a little too much stimulation.

“Malfooooy.” He crooned. “Care to join in?”

Draco shook his head. “I’ve just received an owl. A few of us have been summoned to the manor. Family thing. I didn’t want you to miss us.”

Bole nodded, turning his attention to the woman straddling his lap. “Of course. Duty calls. Sorry you have to miss out, old friend.”

Excuses made, he headed directly towards the Floo. He couldn’t get out of here fast enough. Hell, he was going to need to wash his eyes out after what he had just seen. He wished he had not witnessed the proclivities of his former housemates. Some things were better off unknown.

o0o

Draco stepped out of the Floo and exhaled. It was much quieter on the this end. He followed the trail of voices towards the terrace, noticing that the entire house seemed lighter than he remembered, even though it was night.

He knew his way around the Nott estate, having spent his share of time there in his youth, at least before Theo’s mother had passed away. After her death, his visits became less frequent, with Theo spending far more time at his house until Theo was old enough to entertain in his own right; although, they had mostly avoided the place while Theo’s father was still alive.

You couldn’t be too careful around those who practiced dark magic. While Lucius Malfoy may have dabbled from time to time, Thoros Nott was a hardcore practitioner. Some said he had been driven into the Dark Arts after the death of Theo’s mother. Others said his practices were the cause of her demise. Either way, Theo had learned to give his father a wide berth when he could, and do his best to remain in the shadows when he couldn’t. When both of those failed, Draco was there to pick up the pieces and provide shelter for his cousin in the aftermath.

Contrary to popular belief, the lives of pureblood families could be just as messed up as any other, not that you would be able to tell from looking at things from the outside. Families worked to portray strength and power to society at large, even while there was dysfunction and distance at the core. By and large, familial dynamics mirrored the posturing that went on in the Slytherin common room. Parents didn’t know their children — they didn’t need to know them. Children were a mark of status, but the status they represented was the fact that the family would continue. And in Theo’s case, as long as he wasn’t permanently maimed, he was fair game for his father’s sadism.

Personal fulfillment or even just general love and caring weren’t staples of pureblood life, at least not in the way that most people thought. Sure, there were ways that people met their carnal needs, but if one had a passion or interest outside of the carefully defined pathways that their ancestors had carved, it was suppressed or guilted out of them, bowing instead to the weight of history and heritage.

It was incredibly fucked up — this society built on smoke and mirrors. Instead of the quiet confidence that came from knowing who you were in the world, pureblood society was predicated on visions of strength and delusions of power. Granted, the Malfoys were at the top of the pyramid, but not because of anything he, his father, or his father’s father had done. That’s just how it had always been, for longer than anyone could remember.

Malfoys had long been close to power, regardless of the form it came in. Draco recalled the lessons from his youth, learning to trace his ancestry back to Armand Malfoi, who first came to England with William the Conqueror, to the first Lucius Malfoy, a rumoured consort of Elizabeth I, the Muggle Queen. It was she who had solidified the Malfoys dominion over much of Wiltshire, long before the Statute of Secrecy had gone into effect, during a time when those with magic and those without lived in much closer proximity.

He had been taught that this history made him special, made their family one that others looked up to. But, along the way, he had learned how illusory that all was.

He hadn’t realized that he could be jealous of those he had been taught to look down on — the Weasley family, for example. While Draco had all the _things_ he could want, his parents had never even bothered to drop him at the Hogwarts Express, let alone give him a hug goodbye; it wouldn’t do for them to be seen in such a common place as King’s Cross Station. Yet, as much as he hated to admit it, with his hand-me-down robes, Ronald Weasley was still far richer than he when it came to things that mattered.

Perhaps that’s why Draco had fallen in love with Hermione — she gave him her love freely, and perhaps more importantly, she let him love her in return. It was initially a shock to his system, that he could be worthy of such love, but he had flourished under it, greedily drinking it down and doing his best to be worthy of it. He learned from her, too. While he hadn’t experienced for himself the easy love that Hermione shared with her mother, Hermione’s mother showered him with love, too, as if he was her own. In fact, when they visited, Hermione often complained that her mother took Draco’s side more often than hers.

He had long resolved that his life would be different, that he would strive to live a life of purpose, one that contained joy. He was not content with only carrying on the traditions of his family, regardless of their expectations. He was his own man; he would have to find a way to do both.

That being said, he also recognized that there were perks to being a Malfoy. Being able to extricate yourself, as well as the guest of honor from his own stag party without question, because you had been “summoned” was one of them. No one would give his excuse another thought. It was Malfoy business, although Lucian’s state of intoxication and entanglement also hadn’t hurt.

He joined the group on the terrace. Theo had already called for snacks and drinks, and by the looks of it, was gearing up for a long-winded salute. Draco took a seat and reached for his glass to join the toast.

This was far more like it.

* * *

Hermione

Île du Levant

It was several minutes before Hermione stopped retching long enough for her to attempt to reach Selina’s door. She felt horrible and was worried that she might have eaten something bad or caught a stomach bug. She didn’t want to bother Selina, but was concerned about being alone in her condition; and fortunately, the woman was a healer.

Selina opened the door on the third knock. “Hermione! You look positively green! What happened?”

“Sick. Something I ate. Can’t… “ Her voice trailed off and Selina stuck a wastebasket in front of her just in time.

Selina sat Hermione down on the bed and grabbed her wand to cast a diagnostic spell. “No fever, but something is making its way through your system. What were you doing?”

Hermione sat back and put her hand over her forehead. “Was turning in. Ate one of the chocolates that was left by my bed.”

Selina raised an eyebrow. “What chocolates?” She indicated her own bed had already been turned down, but showed no evidence of the treat that had been in Hermione’s room.

“Were there any left?” Selina questioned and it was all Hermione could do to nod before the next wave of nausea began.

When she returned, she held the remaining chocolate carefully in a piece of paper. 

“Is this it? Did you eat one of these?”

Hermione nodded again.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. This looks like a Puking Pastille.”

“A what?” She managed to eke out.

“It’s a ‘joke’ product.” Selina explained. “Popular in schools for skiving off classes. They’re a British thing, although they’ve made their rounds at Beauxbâtons, too.”

Hermione groaned and immediately clutched her side, her ribs were already strained and sore.

“But how did they end up in my room?”

Selina sighed. “I have an idea, but given how you’re feeling, I’d prefer to get you taken care of, first. There’s an antidote, but I don’t have it here. Are you okay with me Apparating you? It won’t feel great, but we can get you treated right away, instead of riding it out.”

Hermione nodded. She didn’t want to feel like this any longer than necessary.

Selina waited for the current wave to die down and then stood. “I’m sorry. It’s a bit of a jump, but it’s the fastest way to get there. We should take the bucket. You’ll probably vomit again as soon as we land.” She took hold of Hermione’s arm and Disapparated.

They landed in the hallway of a hospital, and as predicted, Hermione promptly threw up again. Selina started speaking in rapid-fire French; and a Medi-Witch appeared by Hermione’s side and directed her into a treatment room.

After a few minutes, Selina came in with several potion vials in her hand.

“When you’re ready. Let’s start with this one. It’s the antidote. It doesn’t taste great, but it should stop the nausea.”

Hermione felt better instantly, but she was left feeling rather drained from the experience.

Selina handed her another vial.

“This is a fluid replenisher, so your electrolytes won’t be too out of balance…”

And then a third.

“…And this one is a mild pain potion. I’m sure your stomach and ribs don’t feel too good about now.”

Hermione drank them both and then lay back on the exam table.

“Better, yes? I’m sorry. The Puking Pastilles are designed for you to take the antidote pretty quickly. Once they get a hold in your system, it’s pretty rough.”

“People do that willingly?”

“Surprisingly, yes. As I said, they’re popular with students, although the schools have antidotes on hand these days. A company named Weasley Wizard Wheezes created them a while ago.”

Hermione groaned, “Weasley… ”

She had been so careful at the Weasley’s house — she never expected to have to be cautious elsewhere. “But how did I end up with them? I thought the staff had left it when they turned down my room.”

Selina pursed her lips. “Well, I didn’t have any in my room, so they were probably left just for you. I have a theory, although you may not be thrilled with it.”

Hermione was dismayed. Had someone given them to her on purpose? And if so, why?

“My guess is that one of the girls at the party decided to have a little fun at your expense.”

Hermione looked incredulous. They were all grown women. She had experienced an occasional prank at Ilvermorny, but that ended when she left her student days behind.

“Hear me out. We didn’t talk about it earlier — how were things at dinner?”

Hermione hesitated. She opened her mouth twice, but couldn’t seem to find the right words.

“Yeah, I thought as much.” Selina filled in. “What you have to realize is that to them you represent the competition.”

Hermione frowned. She wasn’t competing with anyone. She was just trying to get through her first visit to England and move on to the rest of her summer trip, although this first part was seeming more and more complicated. “Competition?” She questioned.

Selina shrugged. “I’m sure Draco filled you in on how things work?”

“Um… not as much as you might think, but I seem to be getting quite an education nonetheless.” Hermione replied.

“Ahh… well, it really makes even more sense that Theo mentioned I should look out for you.”

“Theo’s great. I enjoyed hanging out with Daphne and Blaise, but this group is definitely a different dynamic.”

“Yeah, my brother can be quite a charmer when he wants to be. Plus, he thinks Draco hung the moon.” Selina grinned.

“Brother? Huh?” Hermione was lost.

“Blaise, he’s my brother.” Selina looked puzzled. “You didn’t know?”

Hermione shook her head. “No, not at all. But your last name…”

“…is Nott, because that was my father’s last name.” She sighed. “My mother has had quite a few husbands. Fortunately, there’s just the two of us, Blaise and me.”

The pieces were now slotting into place in Hermione’s mind. “I guess I hadn’t thought about how you were connected to the group. It makes more sense now.”

Selina laughed. “I was there because I’m one of Daphne’s bridesmaids. I know most of those women by name, if not reputation, but as I said, I don’t move in those circles unless I have to.” She pointed to herself. “Healer, remember?”

“Daphne seemed so sweet.”

“Oh, she is.” Selina confirmed. “On her own, she’s quite pleasant. I like Daphne a lot, but throw Pansy in the mix and she tends to take over. Don’t you think?”

Hermione couldn’t help but agree.

“And to be honest, they probably don’t know what to make of you. You’re accomplished and independent, and you’ve snagged one of their prime prospects. Those were all of Daphne’s school chums; I’m sure there was at least one woman there who had her sights on becoming Mrs. Draco Malfoy at some point in her life.”

Hermione shuddered, thinking about the conversations at dinner. “If I had a guess, I’d put my money on Pansy. Out of all the women there, she particularly seemed to have a problem with me.”

Selina chuckled. “Probably a safe bet.”

“So, someone wanted to send me a message and they decided to poison me to do it?” Hermione summarized.

“Or wanted you to cause a scene… Possibly both.”

“So what do we do now? Should I go back and confront them?”

“Honestly, I don’t see what good it would do. Whoever did it probably expects you to make a big deal of it. I suggest you just lay low; don’t let them see that it got to you.”

Hermione sighed, feeling the truth of Selina’s words. She was outraged that someone would do this to her, especially without knowing her — but they had, and given what she had experienced of the group of women, there really was nothing she could gain from confronting them, especially without proof of who had done it. Otherwise, it would just be a wild accusation.

“I’m sorry. It’s probably not what you want to hear, but I really think it’s sound advice. Why don’t we head to my place and we’ll see about getting you back to Britain in the morning?”

Hermione nodded. As lovely as the idea of attending Daphne’s hen do had been, the reality had been completely different. And once again, she had more to think about with regard to the people around her.

“I’m sorry for you to miss the festivities tomorrow.”

“Honestly, I’m not.” Selina shook her head.

“Well, thanks for being there when I needed you. Theo was right. Oh! What about our stuff?”

“That’s no big deal. You wait here. I can pop back and get it and then we’ll get settled for the night.

And that was how Hermione found herself sitting and chatting with Selina until the wee hours of the morning. She passed up the bottle of wine, as she didn’t trust her stomach, but enjoyed the conversation. Selina was quite easy to talk to.

“So tell me about you and Draco? Are you serious? I mean, you must be for him to be bringing you to the wedding.”

Hermione laughed. “Actually, this is just the first stop on our summer trip. He convinced me to take the summer off and go traveling around. Sure, we’re serious, I guess. But it’s not like we’ve talked about marriage. I’m just enjoying dating him.”

“Haven’t even thought about it?” Selina looked incredulous.

“Well, we’ve been together for almost two years now. He’s probably the first guy that I’ve dated that I could see myself with. But, I’m not in any rush. I’ve been much more focused on teaching.”

“Hmm… that’s fair, but I can bet you that Draco has at least given it some thought. That’s how he was raised — not for casual dating, despite what he may have told you.”

“Yeah, I’m starting to question that.” Hermione sighed. “I didn’t know about his family, their money, or anything else. I’m still trying to sort that all out, and now I have to be concerned about other people who have opinions on whether or not we should be together, and what they might do to me. It seems like a bit much. Draco can’t be the only single British wizard around.”

“True. But, he is the only Malfoy heir and all of these women have been raised to think that means something, especially because for most of them marriage is their main aspiration — to secure their position, their vaults, and their future.”

Hermione shook her head, trying to make sense of a worldview so different than her own. Her vision of the future had everything to do with her own accomplishments, not someone else’s.

“But Draco’s dating you, and some of them may just have to come to terms with that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love reading your thoughts and comments. Thanks for being along for the ride.


	13. Hermione and Draco/The Malfoys

Hermione and Draco

London

Hermione had ignored the voicemails from her mother as she took an early morning train back to London. She hopped a cab to the hotel and dragged herself into bed and promptly fell asleep. Between all the commotion last night, conversation with Selina, and worrying about missing her train, she hadn’t gotten any rest. Her first trip to France hadn’t been a complete bust, though. Her stomach felt good enough this morning to snag a croissant from a bakery near the station — and it was as good as she had thought it would be.

She woke up several hours later to Draco softly shaking her shoulder.

“Hey love, your mum’s on the phone.”

Hermione sat up and stretched, trying to shake off the fog in her brain. She hadn’t heard Draco come in, and didn’t know what time it was. He bent down to kiss her forehead and handed her her cell phone before heading towards the bathroom. She smelled whiskey and cigar smoke trailing behind him; he must have just gotten back.

She cleared her throat. “Hello?”

“Hermione! Thank goodness. I haven’t heard from you in days. You didn’t get my messages?”

“Hi, Mom. No, sorry. I’ve been really busy. I just got back from Paris.”

“Paris? I thought you and Draco were in London.”

“Yes, I am in London right now, but the bachelorette party was in France.”

“In Paris.”

“Well, no… It was in the south of France.”

“The bachelorette party was in the south of France?” Her mother repeated.

“Yes.” She sighed. She shook her head again; she’d rather not get into this right now.

Thankfully, her mother let the subject drop.

“And how are you dear? How’s it going?”

Hermione looked up. She heard the shower running. At least, Draco was otherwise occupied. She wasn’t sure how to answer her mother’s question, and preferred to not have him witness the careful dance she was going to have to do. She didn’t want to lie to her mother, but at the same time, she wasn’t ready to share all the details of how the trip had been so far, because she wasn’t sure she would even be able to put it into words. She definitely wasn’t ready to discuss what had happened last night.

“I’m fine, Mom. Just a bit tired. We’ve been on the go since we landed.”

“Oh wonderful! Have you been to the Tower of London yet? Buckingham Palace?”

“Not yet. We haven’t done much sightseeing. It’s mostly been wedding-related activities.”

“That’s nice, dear. And how’s Draco? Are his parents happy to have him home?”

“Draco’s fine. I think his friends are happy to have him home. Uhh… I haven’t met his parents yet; and I don’t think he’s seen them, although I’m sure we will soon.” She hastened to add.

“He hasn’t seen his parents yet? You’re not staying with them?”

“No, we ended up staying in a hotel.”

“Why would you stay in a hotel when you could stay with them for free? Oh, I hope this doesn’t put you in a pinch for the rest of the trip. See I told you, they probably think their place is too small.”

Helen Granger was ever practical, even if this time she was dead wrong. Hermione looked around the bedroom in the posh hotel that Blaise _owned_. How could she possibly explain this to her mother without having to be on the phone all day?

“No, Mom. That’s not it at all. Besides, I did get to meet his grandmother.”

“Oh, what was she like?”

“Well, I didn’t have the chance to spend much time with her, but she seemed nice enough.”

_…In the two seconds that I was in her presence._

“I’m sure she liked you. What’s not to like about my wonderful daughter.”

“Mom.” Hermione protested.

“Does she live in the city?”

“No, actually, she lives in the house where Draco grew up, a couple hours outside of London.”

There. That was a tidbit for her mother.

“How wonderful. So, you’ve been out and about a little.”

Hermione felt the conversation was veering a little too close to dangerous territory and thought it best to move things in a different direction.

“A little. Oh… I got to see Ginny!”

“Ginny. What a treat! Were you able to spend some time with her?”

“Yes. We spent the afternoon together. Her parents invited me for tea.”

“I’m glad to hear that. Please say hello for me. You will see her again, right?”

“Yes, we’re planning to hang out in a couple days.”

“Oh good.” Her mother was quiet for a moment. “You sure you’re okay, dear? You don’t quite sound yourself.”

Blast her mother’s perceptiveness.

“No, Mom. I’m sure it’s just the connection. Anyways, I should run. Draco just got back and I should check in with him.”

“Alright. You enjoy yourself, dear. This _is_ vacation, after all.”

“Yes, Mom. I’ll be sure to.”

Hermione flopped back on the bed. Enjoying herself had disappeared from her list for this part of the trip; instead, she was focused on taking it all in and desperately trying to not make any social missteps. Moreover, she didn’t want to be a burden to Draco while he was reconnecting with his friends and busy with best man duties. The last thing he needed was to worry about her and how she was getting along. She’d navigate things as best she could, one step at a time.

o0o

Draco was a little surprised that Hermione hadn’t come to join him in the shower. He had stayed in the water hoping she might join him after finishing the call with her mother. Salazar knew he had missed her.

Sex witches, he shook his head, once again thinking of the debauchery of the night before. It was another symptom of the problems of pureblood culture, people who used money, substances or sex because they could — because they thought it would make them feel better, when what they actually needed was real intimacy and authenticity, perhaps love.

He turned off the water and wrapped a towel around his waist and went in search of his witch. He found her still on the bed, although she wasn’t asleep this time, and went and sat beside her.

“Are you feeling okay?”

She nodded. “My stomach is just a little upset and I’m still tired.”

Draco stroked her head and noticed that she did look a little green around the gills. He went to swap his towel for a pair of pants and then returned to lay beside her, wrapping her in his arms.

“Did you have a good time?”

“I did, especially after we left and went to Theo’s. Lucian’s was a bit much, as I expected. Not my scene.”

“Sex witches?” She twisted her head and he could see a smile on her face.

He chuckled. “Oh, word travels fast. As a matter of fact, yes. That’s one of the reasons we left. How was your weekend?”

Draco didn’t miss the fact that Hermione paused before answering. “I met Blaise’s sister, Selina. I liked her a lot.”

“And?” Draco prompted.

“And, I think it’s easier for me to meet your friends one on one. There’s a lot for me to sort through.”

“But Daphne was there.”

“She was.” Hermione hesitated. “But, she was busy being the bride. She couldn’t hang out with just me. That wouldn’t have been fair to the other guests.”

Draco knew what Hermione was saying though she was choosing her words carefully. Daphne was more of a follower than a leader, and if certain other Slytherins had been in attendance, the Daphne that Hermione had met the other day would not have been present.

“Who else was there?”

Hermione sighed. “Uh… Tracey, Millie, Agnes and Pansy. Oh, and Astoria, of course.”

Pansy. That was a recipe for trouble, not only because of her disdain for all things not pureblood, but also because of what Theo said; she might still carry a glimmer of hope that she and Draco would end up together. Not that he had never given her any reason to think that — they weren’t Blaise and Daphne, after all.

Pansy had been his date to the Yule Ball and they had fooled around some while they were at Hogwarts, but he didn’t consider her a friend. No, they had drifted apart by the time school was finished. As Blaise, Theo and Draco’s comfort with muggle things grew, Pansy became more and more disgusted. There had been arguments in the Common Room about why anyone would willingly subject themselves to the muggle world. In the end, it had only illuminated the differences between them. For his part, Draco was unwilling to continue to hold to his parents’ traditions simply because he was expected to. He wanted to understand the world for himself. Meanwhile, Pansy was content to live an unquestioning life, as long as she was at the pinnacle of it. 

“Oh, there were two notes waiting for you. I left them on the table.” Hermione mentioned, shaking him out of his reverie.

Draco didn’t feel like moving just yet; he waved it off, pulling Hermione closer. “I’ll get to it.”

Hermione, however, wasn’t satisfied with his answer. “What if it’s something important?”

He sighed and rolled off the bed, heading in search of the envelopes. As soon as he saw the first one, he recognized his mother’s handwriting. He set it aside for the moment, wondering how much guilt could be packed into a letter, given he hadn’t yet been by to see her.

The second note was from his grandmother. It was an invitation for Draco and Hermione to come stay at the manor. Excellent. He wasn’t sure that she would invite them, and while he technically didn’t need an invitation, as a guest, Hermione did. He was glad for the offer and excited to be able share his ancestral home with her.

He returned to the note from his mother and took a deep breath before opening it. Instead of carefully scripted guilt, however, he was surprised to find an invitation to dinner this evening.

He called into the other room, “Hermione, are you feeling up to having dinner with my parents tonight?”

* * *

The Malfoys

London

Not all wizarding families lived on old country estates. In fact most didn’t. However, most of the families who were members of the Sacred Twenty-Eight had a family estate as the seat of their household.Many of these families had roots old and long enough to be part of the landed gentry. They had either been gifted land from the Crown long before the wizarding and muggle worlds were formally separated or had pried it away from those who did. However, the country houses and estates were just one residence. Over time, families grew and branched off, and the custom of an extended family living under one roof fell out of favor. Younger generations wanted their own space, or a secondary residence needed to be secured because of location, preference, or temperament.

London had long been a hub for the wizarding community in Britain, and as such, the city featured several wizarding homes and enclaves. There were streets that muggles thought ended in dead ends or parks that might contain an entrance to a whole neighborhood, if you only knew where to look. Holland Park, in Kensington, was one such place, where tucked among the Embassies and gardens, a rather stately home by the same name stood. Indeed, the city had grown up around it, not even knowing that the structure was there, given the extensive wards that shielded it from unseeing eyes. But if you knew, or if you were important enough to warrant an invitation, you were privy to a secret that even most wizards didn’t know.

The most exclusive residence in London was neither Kensington Palace nor Buckingham Palace, and it wasn’t owned by the Crown. No, Holland Park belonged to the Malfoy Family. Their city property had been acquired back in the 17th century, so that young Malfoy witches and wizards could be a part of the London social scene, with its salons and parties, and so the family would have a comfortable (read: appropriate for a Malfoy) place to stay while conducting business in the city. 

Like every generation of Malfoys before him, Draco had grown up at Malfoy Manor, that is until his mother had made the decision to move her family to Holland Park. He had been quite young when he and his parents moved to the city, but could still remember his nurse elf calming him as the other elves came into his room and vanished his belongings before his eyes.

“We is having an adventure, young master Draco. You won’t be missing your toys for long. Not to worry. We will see Mistress Narcissa before bedtime, as always.”

He had wanted to go find his grandmother who always had time for him, a place on her lap and a treat in her pocket; surely she would be able to tell him what was happening, but Tilly held him fast and stroked his hair as he cried, before Apparating them both to what would become his new home.

As he grew older and eventually became more aware of the world around him, the central London location became convenient as a base of operations from which he, Blaise and Theo could explore the muggle world that they had been told for so long was off limits because it was a dangerous place. What other enticement did curious boys need than a quest for adventure and discovery? Huddled in Draco’s room, away from the listening ears of the portraits of his ancestors, Theo was the one who had assured them that the muggle world was far from dangerous and held its own special wonders that magic was unable to replicate; and in the summer after their sixth year, the world became their oyster and they worked to learn its secrets.

At first, they tiptoed along the streets of London, marveling at such things as cars and all the bright lights. They quickly learned to transfigure their clothes into something less conspicuous, and eventually figured out how to exchange their Galleons for Pounds so they could buy muggle-style clothes of their own. It wasn’t that they were completely unaware of the muggle world, but most of what they had been taught was the stuff of legend: that muggles were vicious, that many suffered from diseases, and most unfortunately, that those who didn’t have magic were an inferior species.

Tracey, the one Slytherin in their class who had some muggle heritage, had initially laughed at such ideas. In the early years, she would defend her background explaining that muggles were no different than magical folk. She shared about things like going to the movies, and flying on airplanes, but quickly stopped when she learned that such talk was unwelcome in the Slytherin common room, and made her stand out for being different. But, Draco, Blaise and Theo soon learned the truth for themselves; for the most part, muggles weren’t dirty or vicious, and some of their inventions were down right advanced, when compared to the world they knew. Further, most muggles paid them no mind at all when they were wandering around outside the confines of the wizarding world, and those who did, looked at the three teens as a curiosity, laughing at their naiveté and awkwardness.

Thankfully, Dora had come to their rescue. She caught them trying to sneak out one night, but instead of telling on them, she went with them. “My dad’s muggle-born, you know. He used to show me around London all the time when I was younger. And now, I go when I want, plenty of witches and wizards do. There’s so much to do, far more than in Diagon. I’m just surprised you lot have any interest in the wider world, especially since your parents would have a conniption if they knew. But, your secret is safe with me. In fact, I’m happy to help you. Have you figured out the Tube yet?”

o0o

The hotel wasn’t that far from Holland Park, and given the evening was a pleasant one, Draco decided they would walk. As they reached the end of Aubrey Walk, the road turned into a path. Hermione began to question where they were headed, as the path appeared to end in a brick wall.

Draco snugged her hand under his arm and pulled her forward, not slowing his step. “Wait for it.” He walked through the wall and took her with him.

Hermione felt the wards pass over her and gasped, surprised to have passed through what looked like a solid wall. That was the thing about magic, you were never sure what was around you, unless you _knew_. Draco stopped to let her catch her bearings, and she turned, wondering what she would see. Behind them was an archway that wasn’t visible on the other side; in front of her was another meandering path, but this one was carefully manicured. She could no longer hear the sounds of the bustling city around them; it was as if they were no longer in London.

“Blood wards?” She asked.

“Yes. You have to be with a Malfoy to come in that way. The downside with blood wards, however, is that my parents now know we are here.” He smiled.

As the path opened up, Hermione could see the house in front of her. It wasn’t nearly as grand as Malfoy Manor, but Holland Park was an impressive property in its own right.

The path led them to a side door; Draco opened it and ushered Hermione inside.

The kitchen was bustling with activity, as several elves hurried around preparing the evening’s meal. They seemed to freeze when they noticed Draco and Hermione had entered their space, but Draco quickly waved them off.

“Hello, everyone. No, don’t stop. We don’t mean to interrupt, we’re just passing through.”

Draco led her towards a stairwell and up to the main level of the house. They came out into a corridor just off the main entrance and the moment they entered the hall, they heard a woman’s voice.

“Draco, darling. Here you are.”

An elegant blonde woman greeted them. The only sign of familiarity was that she inclined her head slightly as her son bent down and kissed her cheek.

“Mother. It’s good to see you.”

The greeting was vastly different from the embrace and rapid chatter that happened when Hermione saw her own mother, she noted.

Draco turned to Hermione and smiled. “Mother, let me introduce you to Hermione Granger, _my girlfriend_.”

“It’s so good to meet you, Mrs. Malfoy. Thank you for your invitation.”

Hermione wondered if they should shake hands, but quickly noted that Narcissa Malfoy did not extend her hand, so in turn, Hermione did not offer hers.

“Of course, Miss Granger. I’m glad you could join us this evening. I was beginning to think I would never get to see my son.” She patted Draco on the cheek. Her smile was warm, but her words carried weight.

“Now, Mother, you know I’ve been busy with the wedding preparations since arriving. I’m here now.”

His mother offered a thin smile in response; and Hermione felt Draco take a deep breath.

“Your father is in his study. Go collect him, would you, while I wait for the rest of our guests?”

“Other guests, Mother? I thought it would be just us for dinner.”

“Oh, Draco, it’s been so very long since you were home; you know there are others who want to see you. How could I say no? Don’t worry, it’s just family and a few close friends. Besides, _everyone_ wants to meet Miss Granger.”

Hermione focused on keeping her composure, as she had the distinct sense that she was meant to feel like an insect caught in a spider’s web. Once again, she was being thrust into a situation where there would be layers upon layers of meaning to sort through. She took a deep breath, fortifying herself for the evening ahead.

Draco led her down one of the hallways, stopping at a set of double doors. Hermione stilled his hand before he could knock and took both of his hands in hers. His carefree demeanor that had been so evident as they walked along the streets of Kensington was gone, or rather, carefully tucked away. In its place was a mask that she figured must be the weight of formalities and familial obligations. Much like the manor, this house looked more like a museum than a home. How odd to have to grow up somewhere where you weren’t able to be yourself. Draco seemed to carry so much on his shoulders here.

She looked into Draco’s eyes; the eyes of the man she knew and loved, but they too, held more than normal. She wondered what was going through his head, probably still trying to adjust from their easygoing life in the States to this world. “I love you,” she said firmly, trying to impart whatever comfort and reassurance she could through those three words.

His gaze softened for just a moment as he acknowledged her words, and then his composure changed as his mask slipped into place once more, hiding away any feelings behind it. She would have to ask about that later — how he did that. She wasn’t used to seeing it, but it seemed to be a useful skill in this environment where emotions were considered a sign of weakness. Wasn’t that what she had learned at the hen’s weekend, after all?

While the chatter between Daphne and her friends had seemed like idle gossip, she was now learning that it wasn’t. The steady stream of comparisons between what one person possessed versus someone else, or where one fit into the social standing versus another — it all served a purpose. They were trying to make sense of their world in the only way they knew how. They wanted to see what you were made of, and even then, they would push you further, until you were the one to break, instead of them, because it gave them power or leverage or whatever other twisted social or political capital they wanted. If you knew what someone truly cared about, you could use it against them.

It all seemed so unnatural and tiring to Hermione. Why would anyone want to go through life in this way, presenting oneself as a façade of who one really was, so as to fit into the capricious social order? She guessed that it produced a lot of unhappy people.

Hiding her emotions wasn’t something that came naturally to Hermione, but she was exceedingly logical, and that was a trait she could rely on. If “dinner” was to be more than just dinner, she would observe and learn and do her best to hold her opinions (and eyebrows) at bay.

The study was exactly what one would expect in a house like this — not that Hermione had ever had such a thought. This was a man’s space: excessive wood paneling, a smattering of magical instruments, a well-stocked bar cart, a wall of bookshelves that instantly drew her attention, and a large desk that seemed to balance the weight of the space. Seeing the man behind it, though, made her breath catch, and her cheeks began to color when she realized it.

Draco was the spitting image of his father, but for the extra years and the length of his hair; they sported the same strong jaw line, same shape to their eyes. Most people bore some resemblance to their parents, but this was uncanny. She heard a quiet chuckle from Draco; not one to let anything past him, he must have caught her reaction.

The man behind the desk stood to greet them. “Draco, my boy. Welcome home, son.” He walked over and clasped Draco on the back before turning to greet Hermione. “And this must be Miss Granger. Welcome to our home.”

His words sounded sincere, at least less loaded than the greeting Draco’s mother had given her, and it made Hermione wonder about the dynamic between Draco’s parents.

“Thank you, Mr. Malfoy. You have a lovely home.”

“I assure you, Miss Granger. I had absolutely nothing to do with that.” Draco’s father smirked; and Hermione realized that Draco came by his favorite facial expression the same way as he did the color of his hair. He waved his hand towards the seating area. “Please, sit. Can I offer you something to drink? Draco?”

Hermione declined, but Draco joined his father in a glass of firewhisky.

“I’m glad to see you are home. Where were you most recently? Monaco?”

His father looked amused, but nodded. “Monaco is always a safe guess at this time of year, but I’m thinking of heading to Dubrovnik after all the hubbub dies down or maybe San Marino. Your mother wouldn’t allow me to miss the wedding, though, not to mention your visit. So tell me, Draco, how are you? How is the course of study?”

“I can’t complain, Father. America was a good choice. The Potions work being done… No one here is on the same level.”

“It was the right choice then. How much longer do you have?”

“A little over a year, assuming it all goes well.”

The older Malfoy bobbed his head in acknowledgement. “I’m sure it will. You weren’t top of your class at Hogwarts for nothing. And then, just think of the opportunities you can make as you bring your knowledge back to Britain. I know your mother had doubts, but I still see this as a good path for you, one that will pay dividends for our family far into the future.”

Beside her, Draco stiffened slightly, as he nodded in reply.

A knock on the door interrupted any further conversation.

“Uncle Lucius, I was told to come collect you.”

Theo. Hermione was glad to hear a familiar voice. He walked over to her and held out his hand to help her stand.

“Theo. I didn’t know you’d be here.” Draco said in surprise.

“Nor did I, Draco, until Aunt Narcissa sent an owl insisting that she had to have an even number of guests for seating.” Theo shrugged. “And of course, I couldn’t resist the offer to spend more time in your presence.”

When Hermione entered the dining room on Theo’s arm, she found that the rest of the party was already in the room. There was a flurry of activity as Draco was warmly greeted by those assembled, and introductions were made for Hermione.

Not everyone was a complete stranger. She recognized the severe-looking woman that Sirius had pointed out during the party at the manor and recalled his words as she was introduced to Felix Rosier and his wife, Celeste. He had called her a spy for the other side. After her experiences of the last several days and now seeing this woman in attendance, she was beginning to better understand his comment.

Also joining them were Draco’s other aunt, Bellatrix Lestrange, and a prim-looking woman whose lips were pursed as if she had just sucked on a lemon.

“Ah, Miss Granger, I’m Posy Parkinson. My daughter has told me all about you.”

Hermione inclined her head, wondering exactly who her daughter might be.

Just then, a squeal answered her question. “Oh, here’s my Drakey! It’s been too long.” Pansy Parkinson strode into the room and wrapped her arms around Draco.

Hermione gripped Theo’s arm. Pansy was the last person she had expected to or wanted to see right now.

“Hermione, fancy seeing you again so soon.” Pansy flashed a smile that Hermione knew was completely insincere, but she forced herself to smile in return.

The party took their seats, as indicated by the name cards, Hermione was seated next to Theo on her left, with Posy Parkinson on her right. Draco was directly across from her, seated in between his aunt, Bellatrix, and Pansy. Hermione guessed that the choice of seats was purposeful, along with everything else in this world.

As soon as they were settled, the elves arrived to serve the meal. Hermione bristled. She knew the use of house-elves was more common in Europe, but it still concerned her to see the difference between the ways elves were treated in America and here. At least over there, house-elves weren’t bound to one family and were free to seek whatever employment they chose. Like here, nannying and house cleaning were popular choices, but still, it was a choice for them, rather than a pre-determined life of servitude, no matter how well their family treated them.

Pansy’s mother turned to speak with her, “So, Hermione, I hear you are a teacher?”

Hermione smiled. “Yes, I teach Transfiguration at Ilvermorny.” She felt a sense of déjà-vu at the similarity to how the conversation had gone at the hen’s weekend dinner.

“And how did you and Draco meet?”

Hermione heard the overall volume level of the conversation around the table drop, as several people inclined their heads to listen to her answer. Draco must have heard the question also, as he jumped in to respond. “Funny enough, Mrs. Parkinson, we met at a Potions conference.”

Hermione appreciated Draco’s attentiveness, but she didn’t want anyone to think that she was incapable or unwilling to speak for herself. “Well, I wasn’t at the conference, just Draco. We happened to meet at a coffee shop in Boston.”

“You just bumped into each other? And you knew that Draco was a wizard?” Narcissa asked with an eyebrow raised.

“No, a friend of mine who also teaches at Ilvermorny was at the conference, and Draco stopped to speak with her while _we_ were at the coffee shop.” Hermione corrected.

“And then what happened?” Bellatrix leaned towards her.

“We started talking and found we had a lot in common.” Hermione glanced at Draco and saw the look in his eyes and felt her cheeks warm, as she remembered their first meeting and their early dates.

“Oh, like what?” Celeste followed up. The woman wasn’t even in her line of sight, but other than her husband’s conversation with Lucius, everyone else was focused on Hermione.

“Um, books we’d read, magical theory…”

Pansy cut in. “You’re joking, right?”

“Actually, I’ve always found intellectual conversations to be rather _stimulating_.” Draco responded. “Hermione is one of the most talented witches I’ve ever met. There are some subjects where I can barely keep up with her.”

 _Score one for Draco_ , Hermione thought.

Bellatrix snorted, not missing the innuendo.

Narcissa’s composure, however, did not change. “You have to forgive our interest, Miss Granger. I can’t say I know how things are done in America, but it’s unusual for our _children_ to date. By the time I was Draco’s age, I was already married with a child.”

Hermione wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do with that piece of information.

Theo came to the rescue. “And yet, neither Pansy nor Draco nor myself are anywhere close to tying the knot, Aunt Narcissa. I guess you could say that’s another mark of our generation.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that.” Mrs. Parkinson responded. “With the right offer, Pansy is quite willing to marry.”

Hermione had a feeling she knew what offer Pansy’s mother was referring to. It was all so odd, speaking of marriage in such emotionless terms, like a business transaction, she supposed rather than a choice between two people who loved each other.

“What do your parents think of you dating, Miss Granger?” Narcissa asked pleasantly enough.

“It’s common enough in the States for _adults_.” She emphasized. Draco was not a child, regardless of his position in his family. “My mother has no say in who I date, but she loves Draco and thinks he’s simply wonderful. In fact, sometimes I think she’s a bigger fan of his than mine.”

Hermione was looking at Draco, so she missed the flash in Narcissa’s eyes when she mentioned her mother’s relationship with Draco.

“In any event, I was raised by my mother. I’ve never met my father.” She explained.

“Do you know who he is?” Posy asked seemingly innocently.

Hermione shook her head. “No, and it’s not something I’ve ever been concerned with. My mom and I are very close. I’ve never missed not having a father.”

Thankfully, the elves stepped up to change courses, and the conversation moved on.

The dessert course was a chocolate gateau. It looked delicious, but regrettably, it was too soon for Hermione to even think about eating chocolate. She pushed the plate away; however, she couldn’t miss Pansy’s declaration, as she held up her fork.

“Ooh… I just love chocolate. Aunt Narcissa, you’ll have to share this recipe with me. Hermione, aren’t you going to have some?”

Hermione struggled to not grit her teeth in response. “No, the meal was so delicious. I couldn’t possibly eat another bite.”

“Your loss is my gain, then.” Theo slid Hermione’s plate towards him.

After dinner was over, Lucius announced that the group would be retiring to the drawing room. Hermione was glad Draco said that they had an early start tomorrow and needed to head out; Theo was quick to jump in and say that he had to leave as well.

What was a party of ten thus became a party of seven, as Theo, Draco and Hermione said their goodbyes and made their way outside.

“What do you have going on?” Draco turned to his cousin.

“I have plans.” Theo retorted. “Nothing you need to concern yourself with. You were rather quick to slide out of there, too.”

“I wasn’t anxious for the inquisition to continue.” He turned to Hermione. “You okay?”

She took a deep breath and smiled. “Never better.”

o0o

Inside the drawing room, the analysis had begun. The group of women gathered in the sitting area, while Felix and Lucius shared a drink near the fireplace, knowing their presence wasn’t wanted in the ladies’ conversation. Narcissa corralled her court; she knew Pansy was pleased to be seated in the circle, as she wasn’t typically included in such talks, but it served Narcissa’s purpose to have her here. She hadn’t been blind to the tension between the two younger women at dinner. Clearly, there had been some interaction between them already. Narcissa suspected that if she needed her assistance, Pansy would be all too willing to help.

“Ladies, opinions?”

She noted that Pansy sat back and waited to see what opinions would be offered. A wise choice, Narcissa thought, to not engage so quickly.

“All things considered, she is a pretty girl, blood status notwithstanding.” Bellatrix was never shy about stirring the pot.

Predictably, Posy wouldn’t want anything to be said in the young woman’s favor. “I don’t know about that. She seemed rather plain to me.”

“And that hair is a disaster.” Celeste added.

“So, now that you’ve met her, dear sister. What is _your_ assessment?” Bella redirected, knowing the only opinion that mattered was Narcissa’s.

“It hasn’t changed. Regardless of how pretty or plain or anything else she may be, clearly she’s not suitable for Draco to marry; but I’m not unreasonable, I know boys will be boys. As long as she’s just keeping his bed warm in New York, that’s his business. But, since he has decided to parade her around England, that makes it my concern. We wouldn’t want to negatively affect the standing of his future bride by openly flaunting his mistress. No, that is not how Malfoys do things.”

Narcissa looked at Pansy as she said the last part. There was nothing wrong with stoking her competitive side, just a little. The girl would have to go, that was clear. All that remained to be seen was how and when it would take place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that, my friends, brings us to the end of Pt 2. If you are following along in real time, I'm taking a week off before we start the final part of our story. It's time for a wedding! (Among other things...) 
> 
> I so appreciate you reading! Your comments and kudos are a gift!
> 
> Continued thanks to FrappuBean and FandomFairytales for putting up with my hare-brained ideas and undying love for the comma.


	14. Malfoy Manor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Missed you guys! Continued thanks to FrappuBean and FandomFairytales. 
> 
> And now, back to our story...

Dinner with his parents had not gone the way he had hoped, largely because Draco was expecting that after two years away, his parents would have wanted to visit with him — to hear how he was doing and to meet Hermione, rather than than entertain.

He shouldn’t have been surprised, however, his mother always had subtle ways of making her feelings known without having to say a word. Whether she was disappointed that he hadn’t yet been by to see her or that he had returned to England with a guest didn’t really matter. The result was that the assembled dinner party had been far less about welcoming him home and more about providing an opportunity for his mother’s nearest and dearest to meet and interrogate his girlfriend.

Her displeasure on either point was not a surprise. His mother had not been a fan of his plan to further his education, and she had been particularly opposed to him studying in New York. There had been several heated discussions, a crap tonne of guilt, and several days where his mother ignored him completely (as if that had been a punishment!) before his father had put his foot down and given Draco his approval.

It was one of the few times Draco could remember his father going against his mother’s wishes. Of course, then his father had to endure the silent treatment from her, as well. 

He knew his parents still held traditional views on blood status; they were the same ones that had been drilled into him growing up. He also knew that he was risking their displeasure by bringing Hermione here, but he was his own man and had since grown to look past those closed-minded prejudices. He had hoped that if his parents got to know her, they would see how amazing she was.

 _And Pansy?_ He scoffed.

The fact that his mother had invited Pansy to dinner _and_ seated her next to him, as if their estrangement had anything to do with physical distance? His mother was truly a master of saying what she wanted without ever uttering a word.

Sure, he had understood her message, but that didn’t mean he would kowtow to her, either. He’d be sure to keep Hermione close over the next few days, making his intentions clear to everyone, including his mother.

His future included Hermione, regardless of what anyone else might think; but it didn’t matter at the moment. He and Hermione were moving to the manor which made Draco more than a little giddy. There was so much to show her, and while the hotel suite was quite nice, there was nothing quite like being home.

o0o

“Master Draco, Miss Granger, Presto will escort you to your rooms.”

Hermione looked over at Draco as they trailed behind the small elf that had met them at the Floo. _Rooms_. Plural. That had been clear, although she hadn’t really expected anything different; no matter, it was only for a couple days.

They walked through the foyer and began climbing the stairs. Hermione saw a different floral arrangement in the center of the room, although it was no less grand that the one that had been there during her visit a few days ago.

The manor really did look more like a hotel or museum, than a home, with the rich colors adorning the walls, not to mention the tapestries and the portraits of people looking down at them. There was so much history here, so many generations carefully preserved. She wondered what it would be like to be a part of such a lineage. It was so different from her own. She knew her mother’s family, her grandparents, an aunt and a smattering of cousins, but she wasn’t close to them. Hermione’s accidental magic had made things hard enough when she was younger, long before she had known she was a witch. Now that she did, Rappaport’s Law and the Statute of Secrecy made it even harder to maintain relationships with No-Majs, outside of her mother.

The elf led them down a hallway, then turned, and at last came to stop before two doors, across from each other.

“The manor is having many guests this weekend, Master Draco. You is in your room, while Miss Granger is over here.” The elf opened the door to a room across the hall and bid Hermione to enter.

“After you is settled, the Lady is being in the Rose Garden.”

The elf popped away, leaving the two of them alone in Hermione’s room.

“Come.” Draco grabbed her hand and led her across the hall, as soon as she set down her bag. He pulled her inside his room and stood awkwardly as she looked around.

Draco’s room, if you could call it that, was far more grand than the guest room, but that was to be expected. Large windows let in light, with rich brocade draperies that hung from at least ten foot ceilings. Glancing outside from this vantage point, she got a hint of the expansive grounds surrounding the house.

It was so much more ornate than his simple flat in New York. Dark wood and rich fabrics. She couldn’t picture a little boy in this room, but she could see how it fit the idea of the Draco that she had seen glimpses of through the eyes of others since coming to England. This was the room of someone who was being groomed to wield power, who from the time he was small was being raised to lead. There were a few personal effects that she could see — a green and silver Slytherin banner hung on one wall, a bookshelf held old schoolbooks with a few photos and personal effects on top.She smiled seeing a young Draco, Theo and Blaise waiving for the camera.

She looked over at Draco, who seemed a bit anxious to hear her opinion.

“This is the room you grew up in?”

“Well, technically, not until I was older. When I was very young, I was in the nursery, but once I was older, this became my room.”

He walked over to Hermione and wrapped his arms around her and started backing her towards the bed.

“I’ve never had a girl in here before.”

Hermione shook her head. “This is not the time for you to fulfill that particular fantasy.“

“I’ll be quick.” He tried to reason, his lips curled in a smirk.

“Do I need to remind you that your grandmother is waiting for us. I don’t think we have the time for _that_ right now.”

“Spoilsport.” He complained, but stopped and bent down to kiss her forehead. “But later…”

“Later, I’ll be across the hall where I’m _supposed to be_.”

“Ahh… but did you see my tub?”

She peeked her head into the en suite and groaned. It was a tub to die for; Draco definitely knew her weakness. The tub in the suite in London hadn’t been enough to entice her; she may just have to try this one and hope she wouldn’t get caught.

He smiled and took her hand. “There’s so much I want to show you. I’m glad you’re here.”

Draco’s face was lighter here — in this house, in this room; his whole demeanor was more carefree than it had been at his parents’. He was at home, and she was glad to see the Draco she knew so well emerge once more.

o0o

On the way through the house, Draco stopped and pointed to a set of double doors.

“That’s the library, but if I show it to you now, you’ll never leave.”

Of course, Hermione’s feet started moving in that direction, as if drawn towards the room.

“Later, I promise.” Draco laughed as he led her down the corridor.

The difference between the dim light inside and the brightness of the day made Hermione squint as they reached the outdoors; as her eyes adjusted, she realized that they were standing on the same terrace as the night of the party. She had a much better view of the grounds; the neatly-trimmed hedges that lined the walk out to the pavilion, different flowers carefully cultivated in various beds that flanked the different paths, the lawns surrounding the more manicured areas, and the woods beyond.

“It’s a beautiful garden.”

“Grand-Mère will be pleased to know you think so.” Draco smiled warmly. “This is her passion.”

He took Hermione’s hand and led her into the garden, pointing out various features along the way.

“See the koi pond over there? When I was three, I jumped into it to cool off one day.”

“Oh dear! Who was watching you?”

“My nurse-elf, Tilly, of course. She was beside herself, but I refused to come out, and then I decided to try to catch the fish with my bare hands.”

Hermione could hardly imagine the man beside her as a child that small, although she could admit to seeing a bit of mischief in him.

“So what happened?”

“My grandfather found me and charmed the temperature of the water to get colder. You never saw a toddler move so fast as I climbed out of there and ran to Tilly.”

“Your grandfather. I haven’t heard you mention him before.” She paused. “I assume he’s not living?”

“No. Actually, he died a couple years after that — Dragon Pox.”

“I’m sorry.” She shuddered. Dragon Pox could be a devastating disease. She hoped that Draco hadn’t had to see his grandfather wasting away.

Draco shrugged. “I was young. I don’t have many memories of him, although I’ve had plenty of lessons from his portrait. And not long after that, we moved to Holland Park.”

Hermione wondered what that all must have been like for a small child; she was also curious.

“Lessons?”

“Of course. Who better to teach about the history of the Malfoy family than the Malfoys themselves? I can tell you about each one of the portraits — not just who they are, but what they did and how they helped shape our family’s legacy. …Well, most of them, there are a few black sheep scattered in there.”

“You’ll have to introduce me while we’re here.”

She noticed Draco stiffen, but she didn’t press him about it, as they walked under an arched trellis covered in climbing roses and he announced that they had reached the rose garden.

There were rose bushes of various sizes and colors all around. Draco looked around before heading in one direction. It took Hermione a moment to figure out what he had seen. There, between the rows, a small woman was down on her knees, bent over, with her hands in the dirt.

“Grand-Mère! Shouldn’t the elves be doing that for you?”

The woman sat back and smiled.

“Pish posh. The gardening elves know a lot, but they don’t care for the roses the same way I do. Some things you just need to do yourself.”

She took her gloves off and held out her hand for her grandson to help her up.

He did so and leaned down to kiss her cheek.

“Thank you for inviting us to stay, Grand-Mère.”

“Draco, you need no invitation. This is _your home_.”

She then turned to address Hermione. “Welcome, Miss Granger.”

The woman in front of her looked so different than the woman Hermione had met the week before. Instead of an elegant gown, she wore rather basic robes — ones that could get dirty, Hermione surmised. They were definitely not for entertaining. Her hair was up and tucked under a hat, presumably to keep the sun away from her fair skin, but her eyes sported a twinkle.

Hermione had a moment of panic, as she wondered whether or not she needed to curtsey again, but decided against it, given they were outside, surrounded by yard clippings.

“Lady Malfoy, thank you for your invitation. I know it means a lot to Draco to be here. And please, call me Hermione.”

“Very well.” The woman nodded and took Draco’s arm. “Let’s take tea, shall we?”

Hermione followed behind Draco and his grandmother as they led the way.

They stopped at a small table and chair set nearby in the shade. Draco held his grandmother’s chair out and helped her sit. Once they were settled, an elf appeared to serve them.

“Thank you, Henckels.”

Lady Malfoy gave everything an appraising look before holding her hand out and indicating that they should begin. There were so many pastries and sandwiches, each appeared to be intricately assembled. Hermione thought it was a shame to disturb all the hard work that must have gone into it, but that it might be even more of a treat to sample. She took a few items and sat back, not wanting to take too much.

“Be sure to try the éclairs. I’d wager you’ve never had one so good.”

Draco vigorously nodded in agreement. He, himself, had several small sandwiches and pastries on his plate.

Hermione recalled Draco’s comments about his grandmother’s pastries, although when he said it, she had assumed the woman was making them herself.

She reached for one of the miniature éclairs and took a bite. It was divine. It was all she could do to not groan out loud at the marrying of chocolate, cream and pastry. She settled for a verbal affirmation, “Oh, that’s very good.”

Draco’s grandmother gave a half-smile in response; it was so much like one of Draco’s expressions. “The galette is even better.”

After sampling enough of the offerings to be polite, as Draco talked with his grandmother, Hermione had an odd thought. While she hadn’t been to many English teas, many of the choices were treats that one would find in a French pâtisserie.

“Lady Malfoy, I am curious about the refreshments. Is there someone with a French background who makes them?”

“Well yes, but they are my family’s recipes, made by my family elves.”

“And Draco, you call your grandmother, Grand-Mère.” Hermione reasoned.

He nodded. “That’s because she is French, at least in part.”

“The most important parts.” His grandmother chuckled. “My father was a Selwyn, but he fell in love with a French witch. She consented to live in Britain, but she insisted on raising her daughter to know her French side, sometimes better than the English one.”

“And I in turn have made sure that the ways of my family have not been forgotten amongst the Malfoys, although some have done a better job of that than others.” She patted Draco’s hand warmly.

Hermione missed the implication, although she figured she was meant to.

“In fact, Draco, I believe your cousin and his family will be arriving any moment now. If you’re quite finished, would you be a dear and greet them for me?”

Hermione had a feeling that Draco was being dismissed. He still had food on his plate, but he couldn’t do much about it. He gave Hermione a look and grasped her shoulder before heading in the direction of the house, complying with his grandmother’s wishes.

The older woman turned her full attention on Hermione. Her face carried a smile, but her eyes were narrowed slightly, as if she was considering what to say next. Hermione smiled back, steeling herself for what might come, although the woman did not look unkind, more questioning than anything.

“While the Malfoy family is not so active on the continent these days, they have always held French wizards in fairly high regard and have even occasionally taken brides from there through the years. It’s not so surprising, given they initially came from France themselves. My mother was a DuMont, a number of whom have been jewelers throughout the years. Although, I was always told when I was growing up that there was a branch of the family that had established themselves in Louisiana.”

Hermione’s eyes widened. Louisiana was a place that had strong ley lines and had many historical ties to magic and French culture, it would have been a natural landing spot for a French wizard in the nineteenth century.

“So, Hermione, tell me about your family.” They had now entered the inquisition portion of the afternoon. At least it was well worn territory.

“I grew up in California, on the West Coast of the United States. My mother raised me by herself.”

“And your father? Not that I profess to know all the American families, but Granger is an unusual name in the wizarding world.”

It always came around to families and names: who her family was, where they were from, what they did. It was as if no one knew what to do with her, without being able to put her into a neat little box, based on whatever classification system they were used to. Hermione was sure she wasn’t giving the right answer, but she gave the only one she could.

“No, Granger is my mother’s name, and she’s what you call a muggle. I’ve never known my father.”

“Not even his name?”

Hermione shook her head. “No, my mother has never spoken about him. To be honest, it’s never been an issue.”

“I see. You’ve never wondered? Never tried to find him?”

Hermione frowned at the suggestion that her upbringing was somehow deficient for not having a father. Her mother had done a great job of raising her, particularly when she started exhibiting signs of accidental magic, without even knowing what was happening. “My mom is such a great parent, I never really missed not having a father.”

“I’ve heard that you teach at the American wizarding school, yes?”

“Yes, I teach Transfiguration at Ilvermorny.”

“And what exactly are your intentions with my grandson?”

Hermione started. That was quite a sudden transition in their conversation, and she wasn’t at all sure how to respond.

She was saved by a commotion coming from the house, as a broad shouldered man with curly blond hair came striding towards them hurriedly, waving his arm to catch the woman’s attention, as if she could miss the noise he was making.

“Grand-Mère! Grand-Mère!”

Lady Malfoy turned to Hermione and said under her breath, so she could barely hear. “One of my other grandsons.”

As he reached them, the man bent down and kissed both of her cheeks before plopping himself in the chair that Draco had recently vacated. He then reached a hand to grab one of the pastries, but pulled it back, as his grandmother used her wand to discreetly zap his hand.

She gritted her teeth. “Cormac, we have a guest. Act like the gentleman I know you can be.”

After introductions were made, Hermione excused herself, citing the need to give up her seat to the other members of Cormac’s family who had walked over to join them. Of course, they could have transfigured another chair, but Hermione thought it best to give the new arrivals some time of their own with their matriarch and slipped off to find Draco.

o0o

Draco saw Hermione enter the foyer as he was coming back down the stairs from sorting the room situation with Cormac’s wife. He knew Cho from their time on the Quidditch pitch — a fellow seeker, like himself. They had always gotten along well enough before and after the games; during the matches, however, it was all business and nothing personal. He often wondered how someone as composed and accomplished as Cho put up with his cousin. She had been near the top of her class, compared to Cormac’s middling performance. Cormac was definitely lucky to have ended up with her; Cho always seemed unbothered, no matter what Cormac was ranting about at any given time. Today, the issue was which room had been set aside for him; Presto did not need to deal with Cormac’s tantrum, so Draco had dismissed him, saying he would handle it himself.

Cormac was always particular about which room he stayed in, largely because unlike Draco, he did not have his own room at the manor, owing to the fact that he was not a Malfoy. He only stayed there as a guest over winter holidays or occasionally during the summer. Draco knew it burned his cousin that he had always had a suite of rooms at his disposal, even though he lived at Holland Park. When they were younger, Draco wouldn’t hesitate to press this point to his own advantage. At this point in his life, however, Draco could afford to be amused at his cousin’s continued insistence that he deserved some kind of special treatment. Thankfully, Cho had sent her husband outside to see Grand-Mère, reassuring him that she would handle the arrangements. It only took an extra moment after Cormac headed off to reassure the children that they should follow their father and she would be along shortly.

He saw Hermione smiling at him as they reached the bottom of the stairs. He walked over and put his arm around her waist.

“Cho, let me introduce you to my girlfriend, Hermione.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Hermione seemed to be a bit wary, trying to sort out whether Cho was friend or foe. He wondered what had happened to cause that reaction. For her part, if Cho noticed something was off, she didn’t mention it. “Hermione, it’s lovely to meet you. I hear you would have made a good Ravenclaw. Has Draco shown you the library yet? I hope we have a chance to talk later; but, if you’ll both excuse me, I should go find my children.”

He pulled Hermione closer and kissed the top of her head. “You okay?”

“I am.” She leaned closer into him. “Who else is coming to stay this weekend?”

Draco shrugged. “My Aunt Cornelia and her husband — those are Cormac’s parents. I think his younger brother, Ewan, is staying elsewhere, although I wish he were here. He’s a lot less of a pompous git than his brother.”

Hermione laughed. Funny how Cormac could make an accurate impression in such a short amount of time.

“Now, about that library…”

He knew as soon as they began planning their trip that he wanted to show her this. His family library rivaled many public collections, at least in rare and hard-to-find books. He stood before the double doors and turned to face his girlfriend, who sought knowledge voraciously. It was one of the things he loved most about her.

“Before I show you this, I need you to make me a promise.”

Hermione looked puzzled.

“Just remember — you fell in love with _me_ , not the books, no matter how tempting.”

She rolled her eyes. “As if a few paltry texts could replace you.”

“No, you have to promise,” Draco pressed.

“I promise that your library will in no way shape or form affect my love for you.” She chuckled and reached up to kiss him, as he tucked one arm around her waist to hold her while the other reached behind him to open the doors.

“Close your eyes.” He whispered.

“Draco, I’ve seen…”

“Humour me.”

When he was sure her eyes were closed, he took her hand and led her into the room. “Now open.”

He delighted in her reaction, watching her take it in: two floors of books from floor to ceiling, with shelves upon shelves for her to discover. After a minute of her gasping and sputtering, he reached up to gently close her mouth with a finger, before chiding her. “Now, remember, you promised.”

“Clearly that doesn’t count — it was made under duress.” She broke free of him and walked further into the room, taking in more of the collection. She looked back at him expectantly.

“Yes, you can.” He smiled, knowing staying away from the books would be too much for her to resist.

He watched as Hermione went from shelf to shelf, exclaiming as she found more to interest her.

“Oh… Oh…” 

If he hadn’t known what she was doing, he might think that the noises she made came from something other than her love of books. It was a good thing they were the only ones in the house at the moment, other than the elves. He walked to the far side of the library and looked for a moment before pulling a set of weathered journals from one of the shelves.

Draco found a chair where he could continue watching her and set the books on a table next to him.

Eventually, she called out to him. “Draco, this is amazing. There’s so much here I haven’t even seen before.”

He chuckled. The benefits of being a Malfoy — having one of the best collections, having been carefully curated for centuries now. He had his ancestors to thank for it.

Hermione wandered towards him, her eyes alight.

“You know, you don’t have to take it all in at once.” He reached out to catch her hand and pulled her into his lap.

“There’s just so much. I’m not even sure where to start. I haven’t even made it upstairs yet.” She squirmed against him, her head pivoting to look at the balcony above them.”

He picked up one of the books on the table next to him and held it out to her. “How about you start with this.”

He held his breath as he waited for her to read the title.

_Working Notes_

_Emeric Switch_

Her reaction did not disappoint. “Draco, you’re shitting me.”

“I told you I thought we might be able to come across them.”

“And they were just sitting here? In your family’s library?”

“What can I say? One of my ancestors must have been enough of a Transfiguration buff to ensure the library had a copy.”

She turned the journal over in her hands. “And the others?”

“They’re all here, love.” He patted the pile on the table.

Hermione clutched the journal to her chest and suddenly jumped to her feet, pulling his hand.

“Let’s go. Bedroom. Now.”

Draco was happy to acquiesce and followed his witch as she charged out of the library and up the stairs towards his room, determination in her every step.

Perhaps he should have led with the journals.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: Emeric Switch wrote The Beginner’s Guide to Transfiguration, which is used in First and Second Year Transfiguration at both Hogwarts and Ilvermorny.
> 
> Your kudos and comments mean the world to me. And if you want to chat, you can always find me on FB.


	15. The Zabini Estate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continued thanks to FrappuBean and FandomFairytales. 'Preciate you both!

The Zabini Estate was an old muggle estate that had certainly seen better days before Eleanora had purchased it and restored it to the home it now was; although her style was far more ostentatious than Cassandra Greengrass would have chosen for herself.

It was oddly fitting for the woman who cobbled an empire together on the fortunes of second sons who had met mysterious ends; her own cousin being one of them, not that anything had ever been proven. Eleanora Zabini lived her life above reproach, although most families knew to keep their loved ones out of her clutches at this point.

The house was rather large, even by pureblood standards; every surface in it seemed to be covered in tapestries or art that was screaming, “Look at me!” The gardens were crammed with fountains and statuary in a number that was foreign to the sensibilities of most British witches and wizards. It was such a difference with her own home, Cassandra wanted to cringe. She reminded herself yet again that the son was nothing like his mother. For all that she and her husband had put him through, Blaise was a very good match for her daughter. More importantly, Daphne would be starting out with something that few of her peers would ever have: love, at least in the context of their marriage.

While she would have preferred to see their eldest daughter married to someone in the Sacred Twenty-Eight, Blaise _was_ a pureblood, and he adored Daphne. Love matches were such a rarity, it was hard to not let it happen. Besides, it was already untraditional, given Daphne’s younger sister had married before her. Cassandra had been surprised when Astoria had stepped up and offered to fulfill the betrothal contract with the Flints, but she knew her daughter’s motivation had little to do with altruism and much more to do with securing her own future. In any event, after the wedding, she would see both of her daughters secure in their futures. After all, what more could a mother want?

It was tradition that families and close friends would gather before the betrothal itself. Historically, it was the time that families told their stories, beginning to weave together the story of the intendeds as something new. Mothers would pass on the family lore to their daughters, as the other women gathered around, preparing them for the realities of the wedding night and beyond. The men met to do the same, but theirs was more transactional, ensuring the bride price was paid, and traditional, with preparations meant to ensure virility and continuation of the family’s line.

By and large, however, those had becoming relics of the past. She remembered when her husband’s family had made room for the two of them in their home. It hadn’t been easy to find her bearings as a young bride who was both learning about the man she had married and learning her place in his ancestral home. She had passed such wisdom down to her Astoria, given to the nature of her arrangement, although she knew her younger daughter was capable of holding her own.

Daphne, however, was taking a different path. Owing to Blaise’s Italian paternity, there was no ancestral estate to move into; and Daphne had already moved her things into Blaise’s flat in the city. Such a thing was unheard of in Cassandra’s circles, but at the very least, she was content that her daughter wasn’t moving to Italy. That would have been unbearable.

As Cassandra looked around the lawn, it was clear that the guest list tonight had been extended well beyond family and close friends, although it was to be expected. After all, it wasn’t so often that a Greengrass was married, and she was sure that Eleanora wanted to make clear that she was capable of holding an event to rival any, save perhaps the Malfoys. It was a not so subtle dig at both the Greengrasses either for having not given their blessing so that Daphne could be married before her sister or a way of making clear that the Zabinis, particularly Eleanora, as a woman, had greater resources at her control than the Flints.

Cassandra had to tip her hat to the woman. While she may have questioned her tactics as well as her taste, she could appreciate her span of control. While most pureblood women were relegated to planning charity events, Eleanora Zabini commanded a boardroom and made men do her bidding.

Personally, Cassandra was pleased that her future son-in-law seemed to have the same knack for business. Although his investments were somewhat less conventional, the results spoke for themselves. Indeed, it had been the sheer level of wealth that Blaise had amassed in such a short time that had finally convinced her husband to agree to the union between the two.

It was irrelevant now, but she would have preferred it if it was the Malfoy boy that Daphne had gotten close to at school. Cassandra had impressed upon her daughter that of all the boys in her year at Hogwarts, Draco was the greatest prize and Theo Nott a close second, given they both were members of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. However, Ronald Weasley, though he was a pureblood with his last name on the same list, in no way was Daphne to give _him_ the time day; that would never have been acceptable.

In a matter of days, both her daughters would be married and her job would be done. She wondered what might come next. Grandchildren, yes, but that would likely be a while. Couples didn’t seem to be in such a rush to have children these days; there was none of the pressure she had received from both her mother and her mother-in-law alike, desperately wanting to be assured of her fertility and to see their lines continued.

The thing was, giving birth to magical children was hard enough, and coupled with navigating the realities of a marriage based on business, rather than interest, she knew it may be a while before Astoria, at least, was pregnant, and even then, she would most likely only consent to carry a child once.

Except for the Prewetts, most pureblood families had one or two children at the most. If the firstborn was a male, the pressure was off; there was an heir to carry the name. But, if the first was a daughter, as had been in her case, then the woman might be pressured to try again.

At least society knew at this point, that it wasn’t a fault on the part of the woman. That had been an important discovery not so many years ago — that the sire determined the sex of the child. Many a daughter-in-law had suffered the indignity of having their magic questioned, wondering whether they were capable of producing a male heir.

There was always a choice — one could either be cuckolded to try to produce the requisite heir, or one could make provisions for the estate to pass through a different line of the family, and if none of those options were either available or acceptable, the family name would fade into the annals of history, as had already happened to the Gaunts.

Of course, there was still hope that either of her daughters would have a second son, one who could be named the Greengrass heir. But, she didn’t plan to push her daughters for grandchildren any time soon. She was content to let nature take its course. She suspected Daphne and Blaise would have no issues, although the Flints would push Astoria to secure an heir for their line soon enough.

It would work out. For now, she only had to put up with Eleanora’s gaudy display this evening. The wedding itself was a Greengrass event and everything had been arranged to be the fête that her daughter deserved. Cassandra took a sip of her champagne and went to receive the congratulations of her peers.

o0o

For his part, Theo had tried to remain out of the fray most of the evening. He was a little distracted, keeping half an eye on the visitors who were still trickling in while being as unsocially social as he could. He nodded as those walking by acknowledged him, but he didn’t move to join Draco, Blaise and the other members of the wedding party who were congregating on the grass.

Hermione and Selina were standing off to the side talking to each other, not directly in the snake pit, which was probably a good thing. Theo was glad that the two had seemed to hit it off.

As he was trying to remain out of sight on the terrace, a familiar voice pulled him out of his reverie.

“Nott.”

His head swiveled, taking in the man whose bed he had left earlier that same morning. “Potter.”

“So, we’re doing this?” Harry carded his hand through his unruly hair, and Theo’s mind instantly went to the feeling of that same hair running through his fingers.

“We’re not _not_ doing this.”

Potter raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you the funny one.”

“I’m not doing anything but fulfilling my groomsman duties, Potter. Why are you here?” Theo could be snarky, too.

“Uh… My classmates are getting married and I tend to get invited to these sorts of things.”

Theo gave Harry a look.

“And also, I’m shagging one of the groomsmen.” Harry hastily added.

“Only if you get lucky.” Theo chastened.

“Oh, luck seems to be on my side these days.” Harry retorted. “Anyhow, why are you hiding up here and not out on the lawn with your housemates?”

Theo sighed. “I’m not quite ready to enter the fray. Perhaps I need another drink, or _something_ a little stronger. Say, Mr. Potter, have you ever seen the Zabini’s music room? They have quite a unique Dissimulator.” He held Harry’s gaze before turning to enter the house.

Harry cracked a smile as he turned and followed. “Well, then. By all means, Mr. Nott, please lead the way.”

o0o

“I still don’t see why Draco couldn’t have waited for us.” Cormac grumbled.

“Because Draco’s in the wedding, Cormac.” Cho rolled her eyes. “He probably had to be here to help with something.”

“Please, no one attending this event actually did any work for it. That’s not how these things go.” He waved off his wife’s comment, searching for a shock of blond hair among the guests. It would either be his cousin or his uncle, and both would be where he could find the movers and shakers at the event. “Well, at least he took his girlfriend with him. That would have been an awkward entrance.”

Cho smacked his arm.

“What?” He said, affronted, and darted his eyes around to see if anyone had seen the reprimand.

“You’re incorrigible. Hermione is perfectly lovely.”

He huffed. “I didn’t say she wasn’t lovely. I said I wouldn’t want to be seen entering with her.”

Cho rolled her eyes and walked off to greet the bride, leaving her husband on his own.

He looked around a moment longer before spotting his uncle speaking with the father of the bride and strode off in their direction.

As he approached, the men broke off their conversation.

“Ah, the young master McLaggen.”

“Mr. Greengrass, Uncle.” He greeted them in turn.

“Cormac: Just arrived?”

“Yes, we arrived at the Manor earlier today.”

“Excellent. Will you be staying the weekend?”

“Of course,” he nodded. “In fact, I saw Draco there earlier.”

“Oh? Is that so?” Lucius inclined his head.

“Indeed, I got to meet his…” He paused, not sure which word to use to give the right emphasis on the woman’s unfortunate heritage.

“Hermione. You mean you got to meet Hermione.”

His uncle’s face didn’t change. _That Slytherin bastard_. What game was his uncle playing at? There was no way the man approved of Draco openly flaunting his relationship with a muggle-born. Cormac studied his face for a moment and then saw Mr. Greengrass closely following the interaction between the two of them. Of course, his uncle wouldn’t discuss family business in front of someone outside the family. He would just have to get him alone to lay the groundwork for his superior suitability to carry the mantle of House Malfoy, given continued evidence of Draco’s poor decisions.

Cormac turned to Mr. Greengrass to offer some meaningless platitude about the beauty of his daughter and the fortuity of her match before wandering off. He didn’t particularly like Zabini, but he had to admit, he was a lucky arse to be able to score Daphne Greengrass — that was one witch he had never been able to convince to join him inside a broom closet.

o0o

Looking around, Lavender Brown was quite pleased with herself. She had finally made it. Here she was at the pre-party for the event of the year, slipped inside the Slytherin inner circle with the cream of the crop. The girls from Gryffindor would be so jealous, if they knew. Hopefully, there was a photographer from the _Daily Prophet_ hanging around somewhere. She’d have to keep her eyes peeled.

While Lavender was a pureblood, she, along with everyone in the wizarding world, knew that there were “purebloods” and purebloods, and she had arrived on the arm of one of the ones withoutquotation marks. It was the difference between blood status and _status_ status. She liked Ewan well enough. While he was a few years younger than her, he was very sweet. More importantly, he was a McLaggen, which was one of those wizarding names that ensured you were on the guest list or given the best table. Granted, the McLaggens weren’t Sacred Twenty-Eight, but the Malfoys were, and everyone knew that Ewan McLaggen’s mother was a Malfoy, which meant that Ewan was almost as good as one.

She was happy to hang on Ewan’s arm for the evening. While her dress robes may have been a little shorter and tighter than most of the women here, that was what she wore to ensure that his attention remained on her. Now that she had him, it wouldn’t do to let him wander, especially considering there would most certainly be single women on the prowl this weekend.

After the most recent break up with her on-again, off-again boyfriend, Ron Weasley, Lavender had decided that she could do much better for herself. She had always had big dreams, the kind that would not have been possible had she stayed with Ron. She wasn’t getting any younger, nor did she have a ring on her finger. If she wanted to change her destiny, it was up to her to do it.

She decided to take a practical approach — she made a list of the men she knew that were both single and at the upper echelons of society. Her friends, Padma and Parvati, had laughed at her. “There’s no way that you’re going to catch the attention of any of those men to date. Even Greg Goyle’s family is going to insist that he marry someone in his peer group.”

They weren’t laughing now. It had taken several weeks of observing the comings and goings of her targets, narrowing her list as she learned more about each one from tidbits she picked up along the way. Graham Montague was single, but a bit of a sadist. The girls had been right — Greg Goyle wasn’t even on the market; he had his sights set on Millicent Bulstrode. Lucian Bole was easy to pick up, but he was married, although that didn’t seem to have curbed his appetite for the fairer sex.

Lavender was not interested in being anyone’s mistress, however, regardless of the spoils. She deserved to be someone’s one and only. As she had narrowed her list, Ewan’s name rose to the top. She had no problem with a slightly younger man; they were more malleable, after all. It was quite fortuitous that she had run into him at the Leaky, and “accidentally” spilled her drink on him. A bat of her eyelashes, a twitch of her hips and suddenly he was the one apologizing. It was only natural for her to sit and talk with him about their mutual acquaintances from their time at Hogwarts, and when the evening was over, he asked if he could see her again. 

_Ten points to Gryffindor_ , she thought.

They hadn’t been seeing each other that long, but when she had politely inquired about the wedding, he had mentioned that he could take a guest, and might she like to accompany him. She had pretended to hesitate, just for a moment, before she giddily said yes and then proceeded to drop to her knees to give Ewan a blow job to ensure he remembered that she, too, came with perks.

She felt his hand on her backside, as he stood chatting with his friends. That was a good thing, especially since she had also seen the looks from the girls from her class that had been in Slytherin. They weren’t friends — at least not yet — so she had no need to go over there, but in time, once she was officially a part of the McLaggen family, there would be teas and dinners, where surely they would have to interact. After all, the McLaggens were _the_ wizarding family in Scotland, and their vaults would surely reflect that. 

While Lavender was fine being the eye candy, it was better, she thought, to remain front and center in her beau’s mind. She waited for a pause in the conversation and whispered into his ear some suggestions of other things they could be doing instead of standing out on the lawn chit-chatting. Ewan’s eyes widened, but he got the hint. He excused himself from the conversation and took her hand to lead her towards the house where they could find an empty room or even a quiet hallway for a while. Perfect. While they were inside, she could get a look around and learn more about how the other half lived.

o0o

Astoria forced a smile; sipped her champagne, again; and laughed mechanically at someone’s awful story. She knew she didn’t have a choice. She had to be here. Indeed, she wanted to be present to support her sister, but she was dreadfully bored and knew she had a whole other day of events to make it through.

She had played her part in paving the way for the two to be together, but that didn’t mean that she wanted to stand here and be social.Astoria looked around from the group of gossiping women she was standing with; hadn’t they already talked about everyone worth talking about? What possibly could be there to say that was new at this point?

Millicent was nice enough, albeit, a little light on self-esteem; similarly, Agnes was a little light on personality; and Tracey was tolerable… Pansy? Pansy wasn’t anything special, although at times, it was easier to go along with her than the alternative.

Astoria found the woman to be boorish, obnoxious, and without any of the subtlety that would have made her a credit to their house. It was a shame her sister didn’t have better taste in friends.

Astoria had found Pansy’s outrage over the fact that Draco was dating an American to be quite funny. She wondered how Pansy could possibly think she had some superior claim over Draco based on their interactions at Hogwarts. She certainly wasn’t the only one to have gotten a piece of Draco while they were in school — anyone with a willing mouth could be good for something, and if asked under Veritaserum, Astoria, too, could describe the intimate birthmark Draco sported.

Most importantly, Pansy was kidding herself if she thought Narcissa Malfoy had any plans to let her be her daughter-in-law. She might have been good enough to accompany Draco to the Yule Ball, and have a few explorational trysts, but when it came time, Astoria figured Pansy wouldn’t even be in the running.

Even as they stood here and chatted, Astoria noticed Narcissa standing next to the mother of the Carrow twins: Narcissa Malfoy never spoke with anyone unless she had a reason to. She wondered for a moment, if she herself might have been in the running, if she hadn’t married Marcus. It didn’t matter, though, because she had. She had wanted her future settled, and being able to marry Marcus had brought many assurances, as well as Galleons. But then, there still were these blasted social events to suffer through.

That, however, was the game, and as much as she hated it, she still needed to play it. These events were as much about whatever the excuse was for gathering — in this case, her sister’s wedding — as it was subtly reinforcing the social order, providing fodder for the society pages and giving the rest of the wizarding world something to ooh and ahh over, as if any of them would want to live like this, if they knew how it really was. While there were congratulations being thrown about, there was always an undercurrent of who needed something from whom; or what you could learn about someone to later hold over their head. It was all subtle positioning, backroom dealmaking, and attempted one-upmanship.

Astoria looked over to find her husband standing with a group of his friends, mostly fellow housemates from Slytherin; they were probably reliving their recent exploits. Marcus had been as subtle as a dull knife, coming home from Lucian’s reeking of cigars and sex. She knew that there were witches who didn’t mind other women’s husbands —whether they were paid or not. In fact, some witches preferred married men, given men tended to want to please their side-chicks more than their wives. Funnily enough, Marcus’s stock seemed to have gone up since she convinced him to fix his teeth — she had not wanted to see that smile in her wedding photos; but, she was indifferent as to how he satisfied himself, as long as it wasn’t with her.

To be honest, it worked to her benefit, it meant that she didn’t have to meet his needs, and most of the time, he left her alone, which by far was her preference. The less he knew about how she chose to spend her time, the better, because it meant her business truly was her own. Let Marcus think she was an ice queen. He had no reason to know anything different.

Her in-laws would start pushing for an heir soon, and as distasteful as Astoria found that, she knew she would have to oblige. She went into this marriage with her eyes open; she would simply have to lie back and think of England until Marcus happened to figure out how to get her knocked-up. But that was the bulk of it, producing the Flint heir was the most important thing she had to do. Other than that, it was pretending to be a simpering pureblood wife at the right events, which was fairly easy most of the time. In the meantime, her personal vault continued to grow as she regularly diverted the “allowance” her husband gave her; and she was free to pursue whatever and whoever she chose, as long as she was discrete. And if nothing else, Astoria knew about discretion.

She took another sip of champagne and nodded her head, pretending to pay attention to whatever was being said.

Sigh. Just another day in paradise.

o0o

While she hadn’t received anything more than a cool greeting from her son with his girlfriend on his arm, Narcissa had had plenty of time to observe the two from a distance, as she chatted with the other attendees. Given the Malfoy’s relationship with the bride’s family and Draco’s friendship with the groom, Narcissa and Lucius were expected to attend all of the weekend’s events.

There were no surprises. Other than a few random Italians, Narcissa knew everyone here, and they all knew her. She was able to move in and out of conversations, all the while keeping an eye on her son. Tonight, Miss Granger’s dress was understated, a comfortable, yet properly tailored set of navy robes. Her hair was pulled back and tamed, and she wore no jewelry apart from a small set of earrings. She wondered whether someone had given her advice or if she had chosen what to wear on her own.

It was interesting to watch how the two orbited each other, seemingly without noticing. Even when they were standing in different groups, every now and then, their eyes would find each other, and one would shift toward the other — a touch on the arm, a grasp around the waist. They were both comfortable with and away from each other.

Draco was far more wrapped up with this woman than she had realised.

If she hadn’t already met Miss Granger and didn’t know her heritage, she wouldn’t have immediately been put off, watching the woman as she navigated the complicated social dynamics on display at this event. But there were small things that gave away her inherent unsuitability. She laughed a little loudly and her face was too expressive. Narcissa watched as Hermione’s eyebrows darted upward. No, she didn’t possess the practiced control that the daughters of those in her circle did - it was almost as if she was carefree. Narcissa wasn’t sure what to think about that, as someone who had to portray a certain picture at all times. It would be easy to be envious, except no one in their right mind would act that way, letting their emotions be on display in public like that. It was a recipe for disaster.

However, she thought she understood why Draco would be drawn to this woman; at least this new version of her son who thought he got to make up his own mind about his destiny, as if he hadn’t been carefully groomed since day one to take his place in this society. She already was tired of the hints and comments that others had been making. Even in her conversation with the Carrows, as she was inquiring about Flora and Hestia’s availability, their mother came out and asked whether Draco would agree to pursuing such a match, given his interests seemed to have _strayed_ from the values he had been raised with.

She had waved it off, saying “Boys will be boys,” but she had not missed their point. If Draco was publicly consorting with a muggle-born, would he follow his family’s plan for his future at all? Would he be willing to make the sacrifices necessary to ensure his familial duties were met? It was one thing to pursue one’s education in New York; that she could explain. It was quite another to come home openly flouting the foundations of one’s upbringing. Pureblood families maintained their leadership in wizarding society because everyone knew the rules and followed them; their lives all carefully choreographed to maintain the delicate balance of social hierarchy.

She and Lucius would have to have a talk with Draco as soon as the wedding was over and make him see reason. He could not maintain this charade any longer. Regardless of what he thought he might want, he was a Malfoy and he had a duty not just to his family, but to everyone in wizarding Britain, which included taking his place among them. Lucius may have given his permission for Draco to head off before, but she would put her foot down now. It was time to bring this foolishness to an end.


	16. Diagon Alley

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continued thanks to FrappuBean and FandomFairytales. <3

Ginny was mortified. She sat frozen at her kitchen table as Hermione recounted the tale of the disaster that had been the hen do.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. I am going to kill Fred and George!”

Hermione waved it off, taking a sip of her tea. “It’s not like they did it. Who knew their joke product would be used like that?”

“Still. It’s the principle of it. I’ll mention it to Mum; I’m sure she’ll have a thing or two to say to them.”

Hermione shook her head, chuckling, Ginny laughing along with her. She had no doubt that Mrs. Weasley still exercised a modicum of control over her children, never mind the fact that they were all adults. In any event, she was thrilled to have a chance to catch up with Ginny and decompress about the events of the past several days. It wasn’t like there was anyone else who she could open up to about all that she had experienced. There were few that would understand.

Ginny’s face turned serious once more. “I’m sorry those girls were so awful. That must have been miserable.”

“Well, I can’t say that they were all awful, but clearly someone was not happy I was there.”

“And how was the event at the Zabini’s?”

“Relatively uneventful. I guess I’m getting used to these bland society events where everyone pretends to be something that they’re not.” She shrugged. “I met more of Draco’s family. I saw his mother again.”

“Ooh…Narcissa Malfoy, the original ice queen.”

“From everything Draco has said, that sounds accurate, although there were so many people around, I can’t really say I got to know her at all. If her dinner guests were any indication, she may not be thrilled with me either.”

Hermione shrugged. “I don’t know, Gin. I can’t make sense of half of what I’ve learned about Draco’s family. I mean, it sounds like he was practically raised by a nanny elf; that he was closer to her than his own parents. As a parent, how can you do that?”

“Granted, it’s not how you or I was raised, but it’s pretty standard for most upper echelon families, like Draco’s.”

Hermione shook her head. “I just don’t get it.”

“Look at it this way, if that’s how you were raised, to believe that the standing and legacy of your family is the most important thing, then maybe you’d make different choices, prioritize different things.”

“But the Weasleys are Sacred Twenty-Eight, and that’s not how you were raised.”

“Nor do we move in those same circles. Clearly, my parents felt differently about a number of things, particularly the idiocies of the upper crust.”

“Clearly.” Hermione agreed. Her mind wandered to the Burrow, with its unique charm. It may not be filled with portraits or antiques, but it was full of love. There weren’t multiple sets of silverware or fine dining, but there was conversation around the table by people who seemed to genuinely care about each other, rather than talk of business deals or social one-upmanship. Between the two worlds, she knew which one she preferred.

Ginny must have sensed her thoughts. “Just be glad Draco has made his own path.”

She nodded her head in agreement. It was a challenge to see Draco in this setting. In part, he seemed glad to be home, but it also felt like it all weighed on him, like he knew what to do, what to wear and what to say, but his persona didn’t quite fit the part anymore.

“Trust me, I am. If he hadn’t, I don’t think we would be together. It’s all so different from the life we live in New York.”

“I can only imagine, but then again, it’s still hard to wrap my head around the fact that the two of you are dating.”

“Why is that, Gin? Because I’m not a pureblood?”

“Well, yes. It may seem natural to you, but to know how things work over here, it’s unusual — out of the ordinary. Fred was explaining how things were different now, but there aren’t many pureblood wizards who have experience, let alone are comfortable, out in the muggle world, or directly doing business in it. But Draco and his set seem like they have broken free of that. It’s all the more significant because of who they are; and the fact that the two of you are dating is just further evidence of the change.”

“You seem comfortable enough. How is it you came to know your way around so well?”

“Oh, that’s because I have Arthur Weasley for a father. He was so in love with learning about muggle things, he dragged me along as much as he could when I was little to see anything and everything, so I was never scared of ‘the big, bad muggle world,’ even if his explanations turned out to not all be right.” She chuckled. “Plus, some of my teammates are half-bloods; and everyone on the team knows if you don’t want your photo to end up plastered all over the front page of the paper, you should have your fun at a muggle bar.”

Ginny grinned like she had some experience in the matter.

“But even still, while I may know how to navigate it, there’s still a sense of the unknown when I do, because it’s not as natural for me as it is for you.”

“And it would be much easier for you to navigate all these complicated social interactions than it is for me.” Hermione sighed. “I don’t want to be the poster child for any of this. I’m just a girl who loves a boy.”

“-Who loves you back.” Ginny smiled. “So, today we need to find a dress for the wedding, yes?”

“Apparently, since what I have brought won’t work in this crowd. Although, I don’t see why I can’t just wear the dress you let me borrow. We already know it fits.”

Ginny looked scandalized. “Hermione, you just wore that dress to dinner at the mansion last week. You can’t possibly wear it to the wedding.”

Hermione sighed. “Gin, no one is going to be paying any attention to me.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, my dear. You will be on the arm of Draco Malfoy, everyone will be paying attention to you.”

“Except I won’t be, because he’s going to be tied up with the wedding.”

“He won’t be busy the entire night. And even if he is, they’ll still be looking at you, wondering who snagged Britain’s most eligible bachelor.”

Hermione groaned.

“Did you see today’s paper? Draco is in it, you know.” Ginny reached over to the counter and snagged a copy, unfolded it with a snap and began to read in a faux serious voice:

_The Wedding of the Year Approaches_

_By Rita Skeeter_

_Last night at the Zabini Estate, Eleanora Zabini, hosted the traditional send off for her son, Blaise Zabini and his bride-to-be, Daphne Greengrass, the young couple whose nuptials everyone is eagerly awaiting. The bride and groom will be joined in a traditional handfasting at the bride’s family estate._

_(For a recap on the whirlwind romance of Blaise Zabini and Daphne Greengrass, see feature on p. 4.)_

_Mother of the bride, Cassandra Greengrass, is known for her meticulous floral arrangements and you can be assured, dear reader, that the detail we have seen from her in the past will be on full display tomorrow. Representatives of the bride and groom have been busy taking care of last minute details. You’ll remember earlier this week when we reported on the groom and his best man (and heir to the Malfoy fortune), Draco Malfoy, picking up their dress robes at Twilfitt and Tattings._

_Mum’s the word from the store representatives on the details of their robes._

_Given how little information has slipped out, as compared to the wedding of the younger Greengrass daughter, Astoria, to the Flint heir last year, you would think that all the details have been placed under a Fidelius Charm. While frustrating to the public at large, the Greengrass’s span of control is to be commended._

_Wizards and witches are coming from far and near to attend the event. The guest list reads as a Who’s Who in Wizarding Britain: anyone who is anyone will surely be there and this reporter will stop at nothing to bring you every detail from the ceremony and the reception to follow._

_While the press was regrettably not allowed to attend last night’s event, the families have graciously supplied photos, knowing that readers would be waiting._

_(For speculation on the catering for the main event, see p. 6.)_

Hermione was gobsmacked. “Seriously, that was in the paper. Don’t people have anything better to do?”

Ginny pushed it across the table so she could see. Right next to the article was a photo of Daphne and Blaise looking very much in love, as a number of their attendants stood behind them. She saw Draco in the center of the photo sharing a smile with Theo, as Astoria stood on his other side, as Daphne’s Matron of Honor.

“It’s not like there’s that much to talk about. They’ve got to report on something other than Quidditch scores.” Ginny shrugged.

Hermione sat back. It was a bit overwhelming to see what a big fuss everything was, so different from the quiet life she normally led. “Is it always like this?”

“For some people. Thankfully, not all of us.”

Hermione shook her head again, trying to get her head around it all.

“Well, Cinderella, we should head to Diagon Alley. I’m sure they’ll have something there. Fortunately, the press haven’t caught onto you yet, otherwise, you might get your own feature!” Ginny teased.

Hermione could think of nothing worse. She wanted no part of the limelight — let the others have it; however, she was excited to finally get to see Diagon Alley.

Ginny decided it would be best to Floo to the Leaky Cauldron and walk from there, so Hermione could get the best sense of the wizarding enclave, entering it like one would when coming for the first time. Hermione was wowed by the number and variety of shops, not that the American magical community didn’t have such things, but the sheer concentration and number of options were a surprise to her.

In much of the States, particularly in the cities, stores were far more dispersed, owing to the need to blend in. A wizard may serve as a tailor to unsuspecting No-Majs up front, while catering to wizards in the back. Because of Rappaport’s Law, they had to be masters at blending in. While there were a few wizarding enclaves, they tended to be fairly small. But here, one could find almost everything they needed, conveniently tucked away all together.

They hadn’t made it all that far before Hermione spotted Flourish and Blotts and dragged Ginny inside, but after a few minutes of looking around the store, she remembered the library she currently had at her disposal, and figured she’d be wasting her time. Secretly, she worried that the manor library may have ruined her appetite for bookstores.

There were a few clothing stores along the way, but Ginny pulled her along, saying that neither Gladrags nor Twilfitt and Tattings had what she wanted. Finally, they made it to a shop with a sign that read Madam Malkin’s Robes for All Occasions and Ginny nodded her head. “If there’s something to find that’s off the rack that will work, we’ll find it in here. And if not, we’ll hit muggle London and find something.”

The eyes of the attendant at Madam Malkin’s grew wide as Ginny explained what they needed. “I’m sorry, you need what? For the wedding tomorrow?”

Ginny smiled sweetly. “I know it’s a terrible imposition, but if anyone can help, I know you can.”

The woman started to shake her head, but Ginny pressed on. “Did I mention that my friend here will be on the arm of Draco Malfoy? That means whatever she’s wearing will be sure to get coverage, at least a photo, given she’s being escorted by the best man.”

The witch’s demeanor changed instantly. “Well then, let’s put you in a room and I’ll start pulling some dresses for you to try. I’m positive we can find you something. Truly, it would be my pleasure.”

Ginny grinned at Hermione who just sighed, as she was pushed into a changing room. She was not comfortable with the attention or the special treatment.

She pulled off her top and shimmied out of her jeans, and was met with a frown from Ginny, as she held out the first dress.

“Seriously? That’s what you’re wearing?”

“What?”

“Clearly we’re going to have to get you a cuter bra than that. Isn’t Draco worth it?” Ginny raised an eyebrow.

“I’ll have you know Draco has no problem with my undergarments, Gin.”

“That’s beside the point, you can do better than that. I’ll set some aside up front.”

A veritable parade of formal dresses followed, each for her to try. Some only made it to the door of her dressing room before either Ginny or the shop attendant changed their minds. Others, Hermione vetoed outright.

“I’m not wearing orange, Gin. I’ll look like a giant pumpkin!”

“But what a lovely pumpkin you’d be!” Ginny twirled around holding the orange chiffon robes in front of her.

That did not change her mind.

In the end, there were a few dresses that she wasn’t excited about but she thought might work, but that was before she asked about the prices.

“I’m sorry, how much?” Her eyes widened.

“We don’t normally discuss prices, Miss. We’ll just charge it to your account.” 

Hermione looked at Ginny in shock before turning back to the clerk. “Uh, I’m not from here, I don’t have a Gringotts account.”

Ginny stepped in, “But Draco does, and he’d be fine with you charging it to his.”

That was true, Draco had told her to get whatever she needed and he’d pay for it, but she wasn’t at all comfortable with that.

However, that was enough for the attendant who dashed off to the front of the store. “Excellent. I’ll make the arrangements while you get yourself sorted.”

Hermione dressed quickly, hoping to head off whatever the woman was planning to do.

She wasn’t going to charge anything to the Malfoy vaults. It seemed wrong. If she couldn’t afford the dress herself, then she wouldn’t get it. She would just have to find something in Ginny’s closet once again; there was nothing wrong with that. Indeed, it made much more sense than spending an obscene amount of Galleons on something she would probably wear only once, twice if you counted the winter ball at Ilvermorny - and no one would care what she looked like there.

She hurried to the front of the store to find Ginny had set aside shoes and an evening bag to complete her look. She pulled her aside.

“Listen, Gin. I know Draco said that he would pay for whatever I wanted, but I’m not comfortable with that at all. I’d rather just wear what I brought or one of your dresses. I appreciate all the help, but it feels like taking advantage to me, no matter that I know his offer is sincere, even though he probably wouldn’t miss the Galleons.”

“You’re absolutely right. I completely understand. I guess I got carried away. We’ll find something; let’s get out of here.” She pulled Hermione in for a quick hug. 

“Well, I don’t want to leave without anything at all. Did you find some cute lingerie?”

Ginny’s eyes sparkled. “Indeed I did. Let me show you what I found.”

While the attendant was sorry to have lost the dress sale, Hermione did not leave empty-handed. She tucked her bag on her arm and the two women wandered back out to Diagon Alley.

“You know,” Ginny stopped and turned to her friend. “I’ve got an idea. I don’t know why I didn’t think of it before. In fact, it may work out even better…” Her voice trailed off as she dragged Hermione towards the nearest Apparition point.

o0o

Ginny and Hermione had been so focused on finding Hermione a dress that neither had noticed that they weren’t the only ones in the store.

After they left, the attendant hustled over to one of the other fitting rooms. “I’m so sorry, Miss Parkinson. There was a bit of an emergency. Did any of those outfits work for you?”

Pansy couldn’t believe her good fortune. She had been bored and decided to go shopping for a few new things, but what she ended up getting at the store was far more interesting than clothes, as she had been privy to the conversation in the room next door.

Little Miss Granger might seem innocent, but it turned out that she was after the Malfoy Galleons after all. She wondered who might be the right recipient for that information, Narcissa would want to know, but maybe it would serve Pansy’s interests better for her to relay this tidbit directly to Draco.

After all, when his hopes were dashed and he saw through the façade of the woman he was parading around, she would be right there to help him pick up the pieces.

“Actually, I think I’d like a dress for the wedding.”

“But Miss Parkinson, aren’t you in the wedding?”

“Of course, but I mean for after. I’ll be changing for the reception, and I want something dazzling.”

It couldn’t hurt to remind Draco of what he was missing by dating that American trash. It was _she_ who would end up with him in the end, and Hermione Granger would be just a distant memory. She hadn’t waited this long for Draco to get his act together to lose him now. While few were privy to it, the Parkinson vaults were not as vast as they should be. A few generations of unchecked spending had left her father with a less than optimal amount. That wasn’t all of it, she knew she would make a better wife for Draco — an appropriate wife. Narcissa had all but said so over dinner, taking Pansy into her confidence the way that she had.

“I told you, Pansy. Just play your part, and you’ll be a Malfoy in no time.” Her mother told her after they left. “I think Draco’s parents are rather fed up with his antics. What does he think he’s going to do with a Potions Mastery? Work? Like a commoner?”

Both she and her mother had shared a laugh at that.

The attendant brought a few dresses and she immediately sent them back. “Don’t bring me anything the last customer tried. I want something truly unique; and money is no object.”

Well, it was -- her father wouldn't pay for it, but she could cover it out of her own vault. Soon, she’d have access to more Galleons than she’d know what to do with. All that needed to happen was for Draco to realize that they belonged together. She was definitely the one for him — and she needed a dress that would make him remember exactly that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you are enjoying it, let me know! :)


	17. Malfoy Manor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continuing thanks to FrappuBean and Fandomfairytales.

It wasn’t that Cornelia McLaggen (née Malfoy) didn’t care for her mother, but she often got the feeling that her mother wasn’t all that fond of her.

No, the most sincere affections of Anne Malfoy (née Selwyn) had always been reserved for the men in her life — particularly, her late husband, Abraxas, her son, Lucius, and her grandson, Draco, above all others. Having had her own father wrapped securely around her own little finger, Cornelia could understand, although it also left her feeling a bit bereft, given her father was no longer around to balance things out.

Perhaps that was the way of things — mothers and daughters were destined for strained relationships. Either you tried to push your daughter towards the path you wish you had chosen for yourself, or away from the things you wanted her to avoid; either way, trying to relive your own life by directing your daughter’s choices… It was much easier with sons — you could give them everything they wanted, the world was at their fingertips. But daughters… no, women raised their daughters to accept the bitterness with which the world would treat them; to understand their place as bearers of the next generation of each family, rather than the goal in the first place. It was why Cornelia was glad she had borne two sons, so that both she and they would be spared the particular melancholy of raising (or being) a daughter.

She looked around the breakfast table at those assembled: her grandchildren — a boy and girl, close in age, much like she and Lucius were, although far more bookish; her daughter-in-law, Cho, who thankfully seemed unperturbed by Cormac’s constant shenanigans; and her mother, the Malfoy matriarch, who presided over the table.

The men had not yet emerged this morning; whether they were having a bit of a lie in or if avoiding the assembly altogether she wasn’t sure. Thankfully, Ewan was off in parts unknown. She hadn’t had the “pleasure” of meeting his date at the Zabini reception, but given what she had seen, she wasn’t anxious to know more.

Predictably, Lucius and his wife were in London, but Draco was present at the manor, along with his companion. She bit back a smile thinking of the headaches her nephew’s little stunt must be causing for Narcissa, and hoped that reports of her own son’s action hadn’t made it all the way to Wiltshire.

“Is something funny, Cornelia?”

 _Blast the woman’s observant nature_ , she thought. Nothing seemed to get by her.

“No, Maman. I was just thinking about what a lovely day it is for a wedding.”

“Hmm.”

Cornelia squirmed in her seat at her mother’s tone and immediately berated herself for the involuntary reaction. Here she was, a grown woman with not just children, but grandchildren of her own, but in her mother’s presence, at times, she still felt small and inconsequential.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Cho shake her head, reminding her children to remain quiet and not draw attention to themselves. Truly, the young woman was a credit to their family. Cornelia, herself, had worked to broker that alliance, convincing her husband that diversity in house, was just as important as finding a proper Scottish bride — that they could do both, and end up with a better match for their son, given that the pool of eligible Gryffindors had been woefully small. Cormac had needed to get married. He couldn’t be counted on for much after leaving school, or while he was in it, for that matter. Ewan, on the other hand, had seemed to be far more discrete, but even she couldn’t understand this latest development.

“I was asked yesterday whether Ewan was formally courting. Imagine my surprise on hearing that, when I knew of no such thing.”

Just her luck, her mother had eyes and ears everywhere.

“Courting? Who would suggest such a thing? Of course, we would have spoken with you before entering into a formal arrangement.”

She’d start with surprise, knowing that her mother would call her bluff, before moving on to plausible deniability.

“So the report of a scantily-clad woman hanging off his side was incorrect?”

“Now that you mention it, I do recall seeing someone with him at the party. Your report is exaggerated, perhaps.”

“Oh? And the fact that he was seen in the house standing behind her bent over on a chaise, was that wrong, too, dear?” Her mother inclined her head slightly, as if her words were innocent.

Dammit Ewan! She already had one son who couldn’t keep his zipper closed.

“No, Maman. I had _not_ heard that.”

“My dear, it seems the McLaggen men are all long on hormones and short on discretion. And given this Lavender Brown would open her skirts to my grandson in such a public display suggests to me that she isn’t someone who I would approve as a match.” She turned to look at Cho. “Do you know this girl?”

While Cho did not seem happy to be drawn into the conversation, she couldn’t avoid a direct question. She dismissed her children from the table before answering. “Barely. She’s a pureblood, a Gryffindor. I didn’t really know her at school. We didn’t have much in common.”

Grand-Mère nodded at the response and turned her full attention back to Cornelia, pursing her lips.

“You need to get your son under control, Cornelia. It sounds to me like Miss Brown is not above entrapment to get what she wants. If Ewan is ready to settle down, I suggest you and your husband let him know what the suitable options are. If you don’t, then I may need to get involved. I mean, seriously, what are you doing up there in Scotland?”

Cornelia stiffened. That was going too far. She didn’t — she wouldn’t — control every aspect of her children’s lives. They were adults. It wasn’t as if her parents hadn’t been well aware of the reputation of Duncan McLaggen before entering into a betrothal contract on her behalf. And besides, it was quite the double standard to single out her child when Lucius’s son was presently upstairs in this very house, consorting with a muggle-born.

“Maman, even if true, I hardly think Ewan’s activities warrant anything more than a scolding, unlike my nephew who seems quite attached to this American.”

Her arrow seemed to have missed the mark; her mother seemed unaffected by the accusation against her favored grandson.

“Please, Draco can _sleep_ with whoever he wants. He isn’t going to _marry_ her. But, Ewan, it sounds like this Miss Brown has targeted him. Her interest seems to be rather focused, given her sudden rise from obscurity. You don’t find that at all curious?”

She hadn’t, given Ewan hadn’t even bothered to introduce her, yet; but it was true, many a pureblood son found themselves in a sticky situation when they forgot to lead with their heads, and she did not relish trying to untangle the mess that would be apregnancy out of wedlock or an unexpected daughter-in-law.

She would have to nip this in the bud. Her mother gave her a knowing look, and Cornelia acquiesced.

“What do you suggest, Maman?”

“I know just the thing.” She conjured her patronus and gave it instructions, “Find Sirius Black, and tell him he’s wanted at Malfoy Manor straightaway.”

o0o

Hermione stretched out on the luxuriously soft sheets of her bed. She was so deliciously sore, she couldn’t even be upset at waking up by herself. She had woken and crept back to her room early this morning after Draco had insisted on trying out the tub, and the rug in front of the fireplace, and of course, his bed.

She knew Draco would have preferred that she stay with him, but she didn’t want to offend Draco’s grandmother. She sensed that the older woman was not under any illusions about the nature of their relationship, but still, she had been given her own room, and she wanted to at least try to respect the house rules.

If wishes were horses, Hermione would not have been able to dream up anything as over the top as what she had experienced since moving to Malfoy Manor. Aside from the library that was larger than any private collection ought to be, dinner each night felt like a State Dinner, even if it was just the family around the table — in the lesser dining room, she had been told. Her biggest surprise had been to find that she had had her own personal elf assigned to her for the duration of her stay. (And truthfully, this had been part of the reason that she had decided to wake up in her room, rather than Draco’s this morning, given she wasn’t convinced that Jolly wouldn’t be reporting her comings and goings.)

She looked around at her room again — it was larger than her entire residence at Ilvermorny. She heard a pop and turned her head to find the young elf standing there looking at her with wide eyes.

“If Miss is awake, perhaps she would like some tea?”

Hermione’s response was cut off by Draco striding into her room, looking half asleep and quite perturbed.

“Thank you, Jolly, but no. Miss Granger will be having breakfast with me in my room.”

The little elf seemed to shrink before the sound of his voice, before popping away.

All that deference — in that moment, Hermione could clearly see Draco as the future Lord of the Manor.

“You didn’t have to scare her.” Hermione admonished.

“What are you even doing over here? I go to sleep with you in my arms and wake up to an empty bed.”

Hermione sighed as Draco tugged on her arm, anxious to get her back across the hall. “I was trying to avoid getting you in trouble.”

He wrapped his arms around her and nuzzled her neck, as he led her into his room. “My love, you are the very best kind of trouble.”

Breakfast had already been laid out on the balcony outside Draco’s room. While there were no pancakes, it wasn’t a hardship to have crêpes instead. She squeezed some lemon and a dusting of sugar over one and sat back to enjoy it.

“So what’s the plan for the day? What time do you need to get there?”

“I need to head to Blaise’s around 1. And you can head directly to the Greengrass’s from here via Floo. Perhaps you can go with Cho and Cormac…” He paused, as if thinking better of that. “Not sure. We’ll figure it out.”

She nodded. Getting there was the least of her concerns. It was another event with people she didn’t know, many of whom appeared to not like Hermione on general principle. The upside was this was it. After the wedding, and tomorrow’s brunch, their time in England would be almost over and after that, she would never have to deal with any of these people again… unless she did.

She looked over at Draco, distracted between his coffee and a book she had pulled from the library; his hair was still amusingly mussed — a far cry from the style he typically sported.

This was the same man she had fallen in love with, but the setting was all wrong. She looked out the window at the manicured grounds below. This was his world, but it wasn’t hers. She sighed, wondering what all that meant.

Draco looked up. “You good, love?”

“Just thinking.”

“About anything in particular?”

She shook her head, not wanting him to worry about her when today he needed to have his head focused on Blaise and his wedding duties.

“It’s peaceful here. How far do the grounds go?”

Draco chuckled. “You’d be surprised. There’s always something going on around here. The estate is a large one. Between the fields, the forest-“ He rubbed his neck, looking thoughtful. “-it’s about the size of Lower Manhattan, I guess.”

Hermione’s jaw fell open. It was hard for her to imagine a parcel of land that large owned by one family. Would she ever not be caught off guard by the difference in their worlds?

For his part, Draco looked sheepish. “If you’re interested, we can ride out and see the grounds before we leave.”

“On a broom? No, thank you. You know I’m lousy on a broom.”

“Actually, no. I meant on horseback; there’s a stable not too far.”

A stable. Of course, there was a stable at the manor. Hermione shook her head at the sheer ridiculousness of the moment.

“Is there anything I need to know about today?”

Draco’s brow furrowed slightly. “Like what?”

She tried her best to be casual.

“Oh, about things that may happen or people who may be there?”

He shook his head. “I think you’ve met most of the people by this point, at least the main ones. Of course, there will be more guests there today. The ceremony will be a traditional handfasting; nothing out of the ordinary. Reception to follow. The usual stuff, as far as I know. Any particular reason you’re asking?”

“Just want to be prepared.”

He nodded, but his eyes narrowed for just a moment, as if he was trying to suss out whether she was leaving anything unsaid. Thankfully, he didn’t press her for more.

o0o

With a lingering kiss and a promise to let him twirl her around the dance floor at the reception, Hermione sent Draco off to gather the groom.

“I’ll be fine.” She pushed him out the door. “I’ll see you after you’ve done your job.”

She retreated to her room and closed the door; she’d need to get ready soon, but had a few minutes to sit before she started getting ready. She eyed the garment bag hanging in the closet, feeling both a little excited and concerned about her dress. She was thankful to have it, though. Ginny had been right about her needing a different dress; Hermione’s simple sundress was nothing like the couture dress she would now be wearing. It was a late afternoon wedding, but the festivities would carry them well into the night; and if what Ginny had said about Hermione being of interest because she would be escorted by Draco, well, she wanted to do her best to get it right. She certainly didn’t want to be the cause of negative attention for Draco or his family.

It just so happened that the sister of Ginny’s sister-in-law, Fleur, was an up-and-coming fashion designer. After the fiasco of dress shopping in Diagon Alley, Ginny had Floo-called the young woman. Gabrielle Delacour was insistent that Hermione wear one of her pieces. “Bien sûr, I can help! After all Ginny, you’re family; and it’s a great chance for exposure. I’ll be by later with a few dresses. Don’t worry, your friend will be the belle of the ball.”

After trying several options, the one the three women had settled on was a stunning creation: it was an A-line halter dress that draped to the floor. By itself, it was fairly simple, but it sported a lace overlay that was embroidered with beaded flowers and ribbons that shimmered as the dress moved. The overall effect made Hermione feel quite like a fairy princess, as she gave the dress a twirl after Gabrielle finished making a few adjustments.

Hermione worried about having both her sleeves and her back exposed, but both Ginny and Gabrielle had waved off her concerns.

“No, no. This is a wedding; the women will all be showing off, and many of the men, too. If you are worried, though, we can add a shawl.” Gabrielle twirled her wand and a matching length of silk-lined lace appeared.

“And the color?” Gabrielle asked, standing back from her creation.

Hermione was confused. The dress was already a lovely golden color. It wasn’t a color she would typically choose to wear, but it worked for the dress.

Ginny grinned, “Emerald green. It needs to be emerald green.”

Gabrielle chuckled, as if she understood a joke that Hermione was not privy to. Hermione watched the color shifted as Gabrielle said the necessary incantation and put her finishing touches on the dress, using her wand to make the color of certain flowers or bits of ribbon lighter or darker, and making sure the beading was polished and sparkling.

“Oh yes, that’s it.” Gabrielle nodded as she stepped back once more, circling her finger so Hermione would twirl again. Ginny clapped her hands in agreement.

Hermione had been awkward as Gabrielle gathered the dresses that had been cast off and got ready to leave. “Is there-? What can I-?”

Gabrielle kissed her once on each cheek. “No, cherie. As I said, this is for family. But, if someone asks, you make sure to tell them that you are wearing a Delacour original.”

Now, standing in the closet, fingering the dress, Hermione was starting to feel a little nervous for the day ahead. She heard a soft pop and turned to find Jolly looking up at her with big eyes.

“If Miss would be getting ready now, Jolly will take care of her dress.”

Hermione furrowed her brow. “Oh, no, I’m fine, Jolly. Thank you, I’m going to get ready shortly.”

Jolly didn’t move. “If Miss would be getting ready now, Jolly can do her work, _too_.”

Hermione understood. Hadn’t an elf come to assist Draco in putting together the different pieces of his attire this evening? As odd as that had been for her to see, given Draco was perfectly capable of dressing himself, it helped her understand. It was yet another piece of this world — everyone had a part to play, the elves included. She nodded at the small elf as she headed into the en suite; noting that the little creature seemed relieved as she walked by.

She stepped out of the bathroom in her robe with another towel wrapped around her hair and found Jolly standing on a stool by the dressing table in her room.

“Miss will sit here.” Jolly pointed to the seat in front of her, and Hermione knew she had no choice but to sit.

She heard Jolly take a deep breath as she began to unwrap Hermione’s thick hair.

“Miss prefers her hair up or down today?”

Hermione reached up to try to stop her. Her hair was a handful at the best of times.

“No,” she started, “I can take care of it.” She looked up to find Jolly staring at her in the mirror.

“Miss prefers her hair up or down?”

Hermione felt bad. She hadn’t let the young elf do very much for her directly during her time here. For Hermione, it was an automatic reaction; she didn’t want to impose on anyone, and she certainly wasn’t used to someone waiting on her. It appeared, however, that Jolly was putting her foot down today. She guessed it might be because of the wedding, and hoped that her desire to do things for herself hadn’t got the elf in trouble before now.

“Whatever you think works best, Jolly.” She took a deep breath and hoped that the elf could figure out how to work with her hair.

Jolly’s face brightened immediately. “Yes, Miss. I know just the thing!”

Jolly threw herself into the task, chattering all the while. Hermione could only catch a word here and there, but it didn’t matter, as Jolly didn’t seem to be looking for a conversation partner. The young elf’s hands braided and pinned and tamed Hermione’s tresses before standing back to admire her work.

“There.” She conjured a mirror and handed it to Hermione so she could see the back of her head.

“Oh!” Hermione exclaimed. It was far more elaborate than anything she could have come up with on her own, thin braids snaking around the sides of her head to nestle in a partial updo that left just enough sleek curls cascading down her back. She wondered if the overall effect with the dress would have her looking more like a woodland nymph than an American muggle-born schoolteacher.

“It’s lovely, Jolly.”

“Yes, Miss, it is.” She gleamed, proud of her own work. “And next, your face.”

“Oh, not too…” Hermione’s words drifted off as she caught Jolly’s eye once again; the elf was just doing what she was supposed to. Hermione nodded her assent and Jolly used her magic to turn the chair to face her stool.

After finishing, she didn’t let Hermione turn around, and instead, led her to the bed where her dress was laid out.

There was a subtle shimmer to the flowers and the ribbons that Hermione didn’t remember seeing. Jolly whispered conspiratorially, “That’s from _my_ magic, Miss.”

Hermione smiled and donned the gown, letting Jolly zip it and adjust it on her frame.

“Shoes.” Jolly held out one of two silver heels, higher than what Hermione had planned to wear. She paused.

“Not to worry, Miss.” Jolly shook her head as she slipped first one than the other on her feet.

Hermione stood, but found that the heels were both comfortable and easy to walk in. Jolly led the way towards the full-length mirror.

“Now, come look.”

Hermione hardly recognized the girl looking back at her. It was her — it was definitely her. Her make up was rather natural; it didn’t hide her face, but drew out her eyes and accented her cheekbones, and her lips were painted in a shimmery mauve. She supposed the look was just right for a summer late afternoon wedding.

Between her make up, her hair and her dress, Hermione was more than pleased with the outcome. She looked down at the small elf with wonder. There was no way Hermione would have looked like this if she had got ready on her own. She wondered if Cinderella had had elves working with her, instead of a fairy godmother, knowing that there were elements of truth in all the old muggle fairy tales.

“Jolly, it’s wonderful.”

“Yes, Miss. You is wedding-ready.” She beamed.

o0o

Having prepared in record time, given Jolly’s help, Hermione headed downstairs to the library to wander around a bit more. The room was truly a highlight of being able to stay here — and perhaps worth all of the other troubles. The Switch journals had given her much food for thought on some of the earlier ideas about the development of Transfiguration; she’d made a copy of the journals for her personal use, not wanting to handle the rare volumes more than necessary.

She checked the time and set her newest book aside, knowing it would find its way to her bedside table. _Pureblood Etiquette and Customs_. It was one she wished she had been privy to before coming. Much of what was in it was laughable, but there were some nuggets that she had filed away.

She got up and went to see if others might be leaving for the wedding soon, and ran into Cho in the foyer.

“Ahh… Hermione. I’m glad to catch you. I was wondering if you had left already.”

“No, Draco was heading to Blaise’s first, and I stayed behind. I’m to head directly to the Greengrass Estate.”

“Excellent. We’ll be heading there shortly, if you want to Floo with us. Oh, your dress is stunning.”

“I like yours, too.” Cho was wearing a grey set of dress robes with intricate silver embroidery. It reminded Hermione of a qi pao, but with a fishtail at the bottom. It was quite an elegant look.

Cho frowned slightly. “Did you have any jewelry for it? I know you’re far from home; it must be hard.”

Hermione shook her head, glad for a moment of kindness from this woman she had only recently met. It was hard, but that had little to do with jewelry. She had already returned the Prewett family pearls to Ginny and it wasn’t as if she had anything that would be suitable for the dress she was wearing.

Cho’s face lit up. “I’ve got just the thing; come with me.”

The two made their way up the stairs and Cho led Hermione into the suite where she was staying and over to the dressing table. A number of stunning necklaces were laid out, and Hermione suspected that this was no costume jewelry.

Cho looked at the choices, holding up a number of them and shaking her head. “I don’t want to detract from that fabulous dress.”

“It’s not a problem. I don’t need-”

“Of course you don’t need anything. You look quite lovely, but if we’ve got one that may work, why not?” The woman smiled warmly at her. “Hmm… I wonder….”

Cho picked up a flat box at the side of the table and tapped her wand against the lid to open it. Inside was a platinum choker with diamond insets in the shape of small flowers. It was both brilliant and delicate, and would compliment the pattern on her dress perfectly.

Hermione’s breath caught. “Oh…”

“It’s stunning, isn’t it? It’s Goblin made. My mother-in-law thought I might want to wear it tonight, but…” She waved her hands at her neck, which was covered by the fabric of her dress.

“Of course, my husband would prefer I wear something large and showy, but I have no need to be so ostentatious.”

Cho sighed heavily, and Hermione felt there was more weight to her words.

“You should wear it.”

“I-I couldn’t possibly.”

“Please, Hermione, it’s not likely that anyone has worn this in ages. The Malfoys have so many pieces in their vaults; it’s not like anyone would even recognize it.”

She held up the necklace and nodded for Hermione to look in the mirror.

“See? It’s perfect. Just the right touch to complete your look.”

It was a beautiful piece, but Hermione was still hesitant. “And you’re sure it won’t be a problem? I don’t want to offend anyone.”

Cho shook her head and fastened it around Hermione’s neck. “I wouldn’t have suggested it, if I thought it would be. There.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's a wedding next week, I promise. 
> 
> If you're enjoying it, let me know!


	18. The Greengrass Estate - Part 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to FrappuBean and Fandomfairytales for the alphabet assistance. Mwah!

The grounds of the Greengrass Estate were resplendent. It was as if everything had been charmed to be at its peak at the exact same time. Hermione had trailed after Cho and her family through the Floo and followed them out to the grounds, although Cormac had made clear that she was _not_ attending with them and would need to find her own place to sit. While Cho had rolled her eyes at her husband, Hermione had simply shrugged, as the thought of sitting with them had never crossed her mind. She was quite comfortable to find a spot in the back, out of the way.

She stood at the top of the terrace, looking at the assembled crowd. There were so many witches and wizards present. The grounds below her were awash with color — people sported dress robes of every imaginable style, both the men and the women. She looked down at her own dress, thankful that Ginny had insisted on helping her to find something to wear.

“There’s my favorite conversation partner.”

Sirius came up beside her and held out his arm, which she took gladly. At least now she wasn’t by herself, plus he was full of information and rather entertaining to listen to. She let him guide her down the steps and out onto the lawn.

“Now I won’t have to sit alone.”

She turned her head to look at him. “I can’t imagine you would have to.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised.”

They strolled across the lawn towards where the guests were gathering in the rose garden. Sirius kept up a running commentary on those assembled.

“I never understood the love for hats. All they do is obstruct people’s view. Just look at the one Corvina Avery is wearing. It’s simply ridiculous.”

Hermione couldn’t help but chuckle. With its sharp angles and steps, the hat in question was shaped like something one would have seen in an early 80’s muggle music video; to make matters worse, the hat, like the woman’s robes, was a brilliant chartreuse. The effect was almost like a giant citron.

He deftly changed their course, so as to not walk closer to the blinding fruit.

“And another aberration.”

He subtly raised his chin towards a small woman dressed in magenta.

“Dolores Umbridge — an absolute nightmare of a bureaucrat. She has her nose so far up the arse of the Minister for Magic, it’s shocking that her robes aren’t all brown.”

Hermione regarded the woman whose face was twisted into the same expression one might have after catching a whiff of something extremely unpleasant.

“She’d kill to be in the Sacred Twenty-Eight, literally. Alas, we are but a product of our birth, are we not?”

Sirius was being flippant, but on that point, Hermione could wholeheartedly agree. No one had any control over who their parents were — that’s what made all of these social machinations so much more infuriating. You were either born with magic or you weren’t. Squibs were evidence of wizards and witches producing non-magical offspring, just like wizards and witches were occasionally born to non-magical parents. It certainly didn’t make one group more or less worthy than the other.

She took a deep breath, realizing that she had got a bit lost in her own thoughts and had missed the last thing Sirius said.

“I’m sorry?”

He patted her arm, forgiving her lapse in attention.

“I was commenting on the gowns. So many are sporting traditional dress robes. I know it’s standard fare for the older wizarding set, but thankfully at least the younger witches are taking their cues from fashion and not their grandmothers. I prefer the newer gowns — much more practical in this weather, and a fair bit more fetching than a set of dowdy robes. Yours, for example, are quite lovely.”

Hermione renewed her focus on what he was saying. Sirius had been so open with her both times they had been together. She wondered why he would choose to be with her, instead of having anyone else on her arm. She didn’t mind, of course. In fact, she rather appreciated both the company and the commentary, but hadn’t he been the one to tell her that he was the last male member of the Black family that carried the name. She decided she would ask, and hoped her question wouldn’t be considered too impertinent.

“I hope this doesn’t come off as an overstep, but if I might ask, do you prefer women?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Do you prefer women?”

“My dear, are you asking me to kiss and tell? Or implying something else? Because I can assure you, as lovely as you are, I would dare not encroach on my nephew’s territory.”

Hermione felt a blush on her cheeks. She shook her head vehemently.

“I didn’t mean it like that. But, I’ve been wondering, as the Lord of the House of Black, wouldn’t it be appropriate for you to settle down and find someone to help you carry on the line?”

She looked up to find that Sirius had a mischievous look on his face, as if he had known what she meant, but was enjoying giving her a hard time.

“Perhaps — but as I believe I mentioned the last time we spoke, I’m not particularly fond of my familial line. I’m content with the chance that it may come to an end.”

“A chance? What do you mean?”

“Well, I guess technically there’s always the option that another member of the family will have more than one child — someone to carry on their family name and another to carry on the Black name.”

“That happens?”

“Of course. As long as you’ve got enough of the blood flowing through your veins, there’s a chance. But, as you know, the Malfoys typically only have one heir — or one _male_ heir, that is. And Theo...” His voice trailed off.

“But who knows, I may surprise everyone and get married yet.”

“What about Dora? Isn’t her mother a Black?”

He sighed. “Andromeda was formally disowned for marrying a muggle-born. That’s no longer an option.”

That sounded quite harsh — and more than a little relevant to her circumstances, should she and Draco want to move forward with their relationship. She tucked that nugget away to consider later.

“And you mentioned you had a brother. I take it he died without children?

Sirius stopped walking and turned to face her. He gave a heavy sigh. “Yes, I had a younger brother.”

“What happened to him?”

“You have to understand, once I went off to Hogwarts at eleven, I immediately became a disappointment to my parents. How could I not be? A Black as a Gryffindor? It was unheard of. I eschewed every one of their plans for me and in the process became a _persona non grata_ in my family home; but my brother, Regulus, he did everything they wanted. After I left home, he was determined to be the son, the heir, they needed him to be.

Unlike my parents, he hadn’t really been a pureblood extremist — at least, not that I know of. But when things started going wrong, he just disappeared. No trace of his magic. No access to his vault. I’d like to think that he saw the error of our parents’ ways, that he fled and had a happy ending somewhere; but more likely he was one of far too many people who died who didn’t deserve to. So many family lives disrupted. It was senseless, just senseless.”

His voice was laden with regret and pain. They stood in silence for a moment.

“I’m sorry to bring up a difficult subject.”

“No need. It’s rare anyone mentions him. Most of the time, I feel I’m the only one to carry his memory.”

He patted her hand.

“But enough about that; today is a day for happy things, and here we are at the Rose Garden. Let’s find our seats.”

The roses were a beautiful backdrop — both the sight of them and their fragrance. At the center of the garden was a raised platform under a trellis where the ceremony would take place; chairs had been placed along the paths in all directions to accommodate the large number of guests.

“I’ve never seen a wedding in the round before.”

Sirius nodded. “Unusual, yes? It may be unique to the Greengrasses. I believe the garden was originally laid out with weddings in mind.”

Sirius walked them down what appeared to be the center aisle.

“How do we decide where to sit if there’s no groom’s side or bride’s side?”

Sirius chuckled. “Everyone has a place, at least the old families do. And others will fill in.”

She didn’t understand that, but sat, as Sirius claimed a spot a few rows from the front.

He leaned over and explained in a low voice. “Old families. Old magic.”

Her brow furrowed. It made sense that other members of the Sacred Twenty-Eight would be present, but Blaise’s family wasn’t part of that group. And hadn’t she been told that Daphne’s parents had been initially against the match?

Sirius must have sensed her confusion.

“Doesn’t matter. The bride is a Greengrass and her family will do everything they can to ensure her marriage is a successful one.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow. As much as others had talked about the practicality of pureblood marriages, she wasn’t quite sure what that might mean.

“Granted, success may have a different context at times.” He chuckled. “At its most basic, historically, marriage was always about trying to ensure the legitimacy of an heir. And having the different families here is about sharing our hopes and blessings for the next generation.”

Hermione was surprised. It seemed so normal — hopeful, even — compared to what she had experienced so far.

Sirius suddenly chuckled.

“Okay. I’m kidding — there’s some of that, but mostly it’s about keeping up appearances and showing off. Is that better?”

“Honestly, Sirius, doesn’t this ever get tiring? Having to keep track of all the ins and outs?”

“Oh dear, from this side? No, never-” He chuckled. “-They’re all such peacocks strutting around and showing off their plumage. Don’t you agree?”

Hermione was saved from saying what she truly thought about the peacocks surrounding them; a man slid into the seat beside Sirius and patted his back familiarly.

Sirius turned and his face broke into a grin when he saw who it was. The newcomer was wearing a smart-looking set of dress robes, small wire-framed glasses and sported a full head of black hair that either was styled to look careless or was naturally unruly, tousled as it appeared to be.

“Harry, my boy, let me introduce you to Hermione Granger.”

Harry smiled widely, as he shook her hand.

“Ah, so you’re Hermione.”

She automatically stiffened, expecting that he would drop her hand, or politely excuse himself to sit elsewhere. She was well aware of the sleights at this point. However, Harry didn’t move away, instead, he leaned in towards her. “I’m a friend of Theo’s.”

Hermione relaxed instantly. For his part, Sirius raised his eyebrows at the revelation.

“What?” Harry asked the older man, seeing his reaction as he sat back.

“I didn’t say anything.” Sirius quipped.

The moment was broken by a comment from someone behind them.

“Wotcher, Harry! Hello, Hermione, Sirius.”

The three turned to see that Draco’s cousin, Dora, and her mother, Andromeda, had sat down right behind them.

 _I guess for this purpose, they may still count as Blacks, but not quite as high as Lord Black_ , Hermione thought privately, putting the pieces together in her head.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again, Miss Granger-” Andromeda said warmly. “-And what a lovely necklace. Is that a Malfoy piece?”

“Yes, I believe it is.” Hermione answered, reaching up to touch the necklace she was wearing, still hoping it wouldn’t be more trouble than it was worth. She didn’t want another uncomfortable conversation like the one she’d had with Miss Prewett, particularly with so many others around.

Andromeda smiled at her.

“How has your visit been so far? I’m still hoping that you and Draco can come by to visit. It’s hard to really welcome someone at these events.”

Unlike others, Draco’s aunt truly seemed interested in spending time with them — both of them. Hermione wondered if it might be helpful to hear how she navigated marrying a muggle-born, although given Sirius’s comment, that hadn’t ended so well, from a familial perspective.

“I’ll mention it to Draco. Hopefully we can find time before we head out.”

The woman nodded. “I hope so. I’d very much like to visit with the two of you before you leave.”

Andromeda turned to chat with Sirius, and Hermione was left wondering whether Andromeda’s interest was purely social or if her thoughts were similar to Hermione’s.

o0o

Cormac looked around. Weddings were good opportunities to see and be seen, with all of wizarding society present — well, at least the important parts.

If he were a single man — hell, who was he kidding — regardless of his marital status, he would do his best to find someone to end up in a dark corner with, if only to lay the groundwork for later possibilities.

His brother was here, with that bint, Lavender Brown, sitting next to him. Her dress was cut so low, her breasts were practically spilling out. They were decent melons, he knew from personal experience. He hadn’t said anything to his brother, however; he wouldn’t begrudge him his turn. But the fact that Ewan seemed to really like the woman was an anathema to him — it wasn’t like she had a golden pussy or anything.As he recalled, she wasn’t even a natural blonde and her skills were at best passable.

As he surveyed the crowd, he saw the American sitting several rows ahead on the other side of the aisle. He was surprised, having expected her to be sitting in the back, with those guests who had no standing, given she had no reason to be here. He leaned over to his wife and pointed it out.

“Look. Why is she seated closer to the front than we are?”

“Well, she did walk in on the arm of Lord Black.”

Cormac scowled. “I don’t like it. She shouldn’t be sitting closer to the front than we are.”

Cho looked amused. “She’s also dating the best man.”

He scoffed, “Well, I’m his cousin — and a Malfoy.”

o0o

This was it. This was the moment that Daphne would finally marry the man she had fallen in love with when she was fifteen; knowing full well, even then, that she had no business catching feelings at all.

She had known her entire life that as the oldest daughter in her family, her virtue would be traded away to secure an alliance or fulfill a promise. It was just the way of things.

It’s not that her parents didn’t care for her; on the contrary, they loved her. Her father had indulged both of his daughters, and never made them feel less worthy, for not being sons. However, raising one’s daughters was one matter, ensuring they were suitably married to further the family’s interests was another.

Knowing all this, it hadn’t been a surprise to develop feelings for the man standing at the end of the aisle; what was surprising was that the two of them had managed to stay together through all of it: through the uncertainty and doubt, through the disapproval of her parents, and through Blaise’s persistence for her hand.

As she looked around, she couldn’t help but think about those assembled as guests. As a group, they made quite a who’s who of wizarding society, not that she should have expected anything less. There were representatives from each of the remaining families in the Sacred Twenty-Eight, to be sure, but also many other purebloods and a few half-bloods who probably cared less about her nuptials than the possibility of rubbing elbows with one person or another.

It was quite a crowd. However, Daphne would have been just as happy if it was just the two of them and the minister. She didn’t need any of this. This wedding was, as was much of the world around her, about seeing and being seen, about showing off one’s wealth or position. Her parents would never have considered anything less than a spectacle, regardless of what her wishes were. So, she played the part, blushing bride and all that; but all she wanted was what awaited her at the end of the aisle — her happy ending.

She looked out over the guests all dressed in festive wedding attire and wondered how many people were going through the motions, willing or unwilling participants of a society that saw love as an unnecessary distraction, or at best an accident, rather than the foundation for life together. She felt lucky to be so close to fulfilling her dream. What would it be like if others could achieve theirs?

Even her own sister was caught in a loveless marriage — the one for which Daphne, herself had been destined. She knew Astoria didn’t love Marcus, but perhaps her sister was the better pureblood princess in that way. Unlike Daphne, Astoria was a master at playing the game. She knew how to position herself just right, to ensure she got what she wanted and came out on top.

While Daphne knew how to play (it would have been impossible to have grown up at the knee of Cassandra Greengrass and not know), she was far less interested in the pastime. Maybe that was why she had fallen in love with a boy who, while his circle of friends was impressive, held a last name that was wholly unremarkable.

“Find a way to ingratiate yourself with the Malfoy boy-” Her mother had counseled. “-You’re much prettier than Pansy Parkinson.”

While that may have been true, Daphne found she didn’t care for obnoxious gits, regardless of the size of their vaults. And besides, Pansy had made very clear that Draco was off-limits to anyone but her.

But Blaise was steadfast and charming, and as they grew closer, she knew she couldn’t see herself with anyone else.

As the music changed, she took a deep breath and felt her father pat her arm. This was it. In a few moments, she would become Mrs. Blaise Zabini, and at least in her corner of the world, everything was alright.

o0o

Instinctively, Draco knew Daphne was walking down the aisle. He had glanced at Blaise and then Daphne, as the music began, but his eyes were drawn to Hermione, seeing her sitting there among the assembled guests. He watched her — her hair was pinned up, rather than the wild curls he loved so much; she wore a dress that was simply stunning and a necklace he didn’t recognize, but it was not what he was used to seeing her wear. She was a vision to behold, but she didn’t quite look like herself.

In that instant, it became clear to him how much of an effort Hermione had been making during their time in England, and she was doing it all for him, without complaint. In her interactions so far, she had shown the same ease and grace she did when speaking at a conference or teaching her students. She had met so many people, and had been thrust into so many different situations; she had handled it all with aplomb, but in this environment, she couldn’t truly be herself.

Everything was a puzzle to figure out, and Hermione Granger was a master at problem-solving. Here she was, again, doing her best to fit into this crowd, who, knowing them, cared nothing for her brilliance and everything for her bloodline, no matter how amazing she was. He took a deep breath, realizing how hard all of this probably had been, and he had done a poor job of either preparing her for it or protecting her from it.

His eyes remained locked on her as Daphne continued walking. He saw Hermione’s smile widen as the bride walked by, radiating the joy she felt for his friends at the moment, even in the midst of everything. Blaise leaned over and whispered. “Gods, she’s beautiful.”

“Yes, she is.” Draco answered automatically, his eyes never leaving his girlfriend. He only registered after the fact that they weren’t talking about the same woman. It was then that Draco understood just how important Hermione was to him, and that he wouldn’t be satisfied with her simply being a part of some indefinite future. He wanted to have a moment like this with her, too.

If she would have him, he wanted to marry her.

As Daphne moved past her, Hermione’s eyes found Draco’s and her smile grew even wider — just for him; and for the first time in his life, Draco knew that he would do absolutely anything to make sure that what had started as a passing thought would come to fruition.


	19. The Greengrass Estate - Part 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alphabet love to FrappuBean and Fandomfairytales.
> 
> I know some of you have been anxiously awaiting this chapter. It's a long one. I hope it suits.

As the wedding ended and the bridal party left to take the obligatory photos elsewhere on the estate, guests began to move from the rose garden to the reception. There were several large tents set up for dancing and dining, and the doors of the Greengrass’s house had been thrown open so guests could seamlessly move between everything.

It was a beautiful day for a wedding, and the evening promised to be just as lovely.

Hermione remained with Sirius and Harry, who was quick to snag three champagne flutes from a passing elf. He handed one to each of them and raised his in a toast.

“To those who find someone they want to tie themselves to for eternity — or until the vaults run dry.”

Hermione was taken aback at his apparent skepticism of the institution of marriage, but still took a sip to be polite. At least, his toast seemed consistent with what she had learned about pureblood marriage. She liked Harry; he wasn’t like some of the others she had met. She thought he might be like Sirius had been like when he was younger: a bit irreverent, with a mild disdain for authority, although she was having trouble reconciling that with the fact that Harry had said he worked for the British Ministry as an Auror.

They wandered over to one of the tables laden with confections of all kinds; she sampled an éclair, finding it not quite as good as Lady Malfoy’s was. The decorations, however, were exquisite; flowers of every kind had been intricately arranged to create arches leading into every tent and brighten every corner, in addition to the showcase centerpieces.

Hermione wondered where anyone would have found so many flowers, let alone find the time to create such intricate designs with them. She was sure they must have used a stasis charm to keep them looking their best, given the warmth of the day.

“It’s all about making the right impression.” Sirius leaned over and whispered in her ear, noticing that she was studying the decorations around them.

“And they did all of this just a year ago for Astoria?” She wondered.

“Not quite at this level, but close. Astoria is their younger daughter, after all.”

Hermione shook her head; so many rules, so many different things to consider — and all of it seemingly arbitrary.

“I see you’ve already found the drinks.”

Hermione whirled around.

“Draco!”

He nodded at his uncle and acknowledged the man who was standing with them.

“Potter.”

“Malfoy.”

Hermione was intrigued; it sounded like the two of them had some history. She would have to ask Draco about that later.

“Perhaps I can borrow you for a moment?”

She bid Sirius and Harry adieu and took Draco’s arm. He led her back towards the rose garden; the chairs had already been removed and it had been returned to its normal state.

“I thought you’d be tied up longer.”

“No, thankfully, they only took a few formal portraits of the entire party — the rest of the pictures are of the families and just the bride and groom. How are you doing? Did you enjoy the wedding?”

“I did. The wedding was lovely. I’ve never seen a handfasting like that before.” She admitted.

“I’m sorry I had to leave you on your own.”

Hermione shook her head.

“I was in good company. Are you done for now?”

“I think so, at least until they finish with the photos-” He held out his arm for her, always the gentleman. “-Are you up for a walk?”

o0o

Already having had her fill of small talk, Narcissa saw her sister-in-law begin heading in her direction, dragging her oaf of a husband toward them. She nudged her husband so he could prepare.

“Ah, dear sister, Duncan; it’s been too long.”

Lucius said smoothly, kissing his sister on each cheek and shaking the Scotsman’s hand.

Narcissa smiled politely and stood her ground, making sure Cornelia came to her, a not-so-subtle reminder that she now had the higher standing.

Cornelia leaned over and touched her cheek to hers.

“Narcissa.”

She noted that Duncan’s bulbous nose was already quite red. He may have been a looker in his day, but those days were long past. Again, Narcissa was thankful to have ended up with a man much closer to her own age than Cornelia was with Duncan; that, and Malfoy men were exceptionally pretty. However, the age difference, too, came with some benefit, as Cornelia would almost surely outlive her husband, given that she was nearly fifteen years his junior, in addition to the ailments the man was predisposed to… One never knew if it might end up being much sooner than expected.

Narcissa had looked up to Cornelia when they were younger. The Malfoy daughter had been only two years ahead of her, in the same class as her sister, Andromeda, although Narcissa’s mother had pushed for her girls to make Cornelia’s acquaintance long before that. Narcissa clearly remembered Andromeda and Cornelia speaking in hushed tones after Winter Break in their Seventh Year. Cornelia’s betrothal had been announced at the Malfoy’s New Year’s Eve ball and the young woman had returned from break with an engagement ring befitting a Malfoy daughter. Everyone had done the polite oohing and ahhing over it, although Narcissa had noted internally that Andi’s would be bigger, given she would be a Malfoy bride, and not a cast-off daughter. It was only a few short months after that that her sister had been disowned and Lucius had begun courting her, instead.

While she was glad for her decision, she never understood why her sister had made the choice she had, and their relationship was no longer such that she would ever ask her; it had all gone in Narcissa’s favor anyways, but she had always wondered what it was that Cornelia and Andromeda had been whispering about in the corner of the Slytherin Common Room all those years ago, and whether Cornelia had known what her sister was going to do.

“Draco looks well.”

Cornelia smiled at her, as their husbands made the obligatory pleasantries. Lord knows, they had little in common between them. Lucius was only at home in London when he had to be, while it nearly took a Wizengamot ruling to convince Duncan to leave his estate. Narcissa smiled in response, knowing that her sister-in-law was not as far out of the social loop as she often pretended to be. Besides, given Cornelia was staying at the manor, she had most likely spent more time with Draco than she had been able to so far.

“And his girlfriend, Hermione, she seems _quite_ lovely.”

There it was. She knew Cornelia couldn’t resist saying something. Thankfully, she was well versed in deflecting comments about Draco’s date. The trick was to always have something to say in return that would shut the other person up, ideally using their own vulnerabilities against them.

She smiled before responding and tilted her head just a tiny bit, so as to infuse her response with the right amount of genuineness.

“It’s so good to see your boys, as well, Cornelia. And who’s that with Ewan? Is he courting? Such an unconventional set of robes she’s wearing.”

Cornelia’s eyes widened for just a moment, perhaps surprised at Narcissa’s parry. She should have nothing to say about Draco, given her own son was parading around with a woman who looked like she was one biscuit away from spilling out of her robes altogether.

They both were Slytherins, raised by women who elevated verbal sparring to be an art form.

Cornelia acquiesced, as Narcissa knew she would, turning their conversation to the wedding, the weather, and Narcissa’s plans for this year’s ball before feigning that she had spotted a friend to which she needed to say hello.

Another set of kisses on the cheek and insincere promises that they would dine together while everyone was in town, and Cornelia dragged her husband away.

Lucius turned to address her.

“It was good to see Cornelia. She looks well. When will we have them for dinner?”

Narcissa smiled at him and patted his arm.

“Oh, we’ll do it soon. I’ll send an owl.”

She knew full well she would do no such thing. If anything, Narcissa was amused that Cornelia still tried to best her after all these years, when they both knew Narcissa would always come out on top.

o0o

Lavender pouted. She still had not yet been introduced to Ewan’s parents, and she didn’t understand why. She wasn’t going to cause a fuss over it, but she would make sure to have an introduction before the day was through.

She had been sat at the far end of the row, with Ewan next to her, and his brother, Cormac, and his family next to them. Having spied the particular shade of blonde that most Malfoys sported, it appeared that Ewan and Cormac’s parents were sitting several rows ahead of them.

Cormac. Now, there was a blast from her past that she’d rather forget, although it wasn’t as if she could avoid him, given he was Ewan’s brother. Instead, they seemed to be in an uneasy truce. She expected that he hadn’t said anything to Ewan about their prior entanglement; and hoped it would stay that way. Cho had been polite enough when they were re-introduced, but had quickly headed elsewhere, which left Lavender hanging on Ewan’s arm again, hoping to draw him away from his brother, so she could ask about meeting his parents.

When it didn’t appear she would get his attention anytime soon, she excused herself to head to the loo and wandered towards the big house.

As she came back outside, Lord Black seemed to be waiting for her on the terrace, as he walked over to meet her, when she appeared. That was a surprise.

“Miss Brown, yes?”

She nodded and he gave her a bow.

“May we walk?”

She took his proffered arm. She would look rather splendid on the arm of an _actual_ lord, she thought. She couldn’t wait to tell Padma and Parvati. They would be beside themselves.

They strolled on the grounds away from the crowd.

“I understand you’re here with Ewan McLaggen.”

“Yes, we’re dating.”

Sirius chuckled softly.

“Do you mean to tell me that Ewan has begun the formal courting process? Well, then. Congratulations, I hadn’t heard.”

Lavender frowned.

“Not yet. But I expect we will be soon. We’re quite serious.”

She had heard about some of the arcane customs of these families, although she didn’t know them all for herself. It hadn’t stopped Ewan from doing all kinds of things with her. Thankfully, he was at least more interested in her finding her release than his brother had been.

“I see,” was all Lord Black said in response.

They walked a little further, and then he turned to face her.

“And tell me something, Miss Brown, I understood that you were in a fairly serious relationship with the youngest Weasley boy not too long ago. Is that correct?”

Lavender felt her cheeks begin to heat.

“I’m not… he’s…we’re not together.”

For his part, Lord Black was unphased by her sputtering.

“You were, though; which leads me to wonder if young Master McLaggen is either your rebound or if you’re just leading him on.”

She knew her face was bright red. Her eyes narrowed. Who did he think he was lecturing her about her relationship?

“Listen, Miss Brown. You’re a smart girl. You probably thought that Ewan was a good move for you; someone to help you rise above your station? Hmm? Well, he’s not who you think he is. He’s a second son, so he won’t inherit. Besides, do you really want to swim in these shark-infested waters every day? Do you see these women accepting you? Inviting you to their homes? Take it from a fellow Gryffindor. Life in the snake pit isn’t easy.”

She felt tears welling up in her eyes and took a deep breath. Was it that easy to see through all of her plans? Wasn’t she just as worthy as anyone else here?

Lord Black reached out and gently lifted her chin.

“If I may say so, you’re a beautiful girl, Lavender. Don’t try so hard to be something that you’re not. Trust me, this isn’t your scene. Go home.”

She wasn’t sure how to react to what she had been told. How could Ewan not inherit his family’s wealth? Surely, they had a number of properties and vaults, some of which would end up being his. Right? Everyone knew these people were loaded. She took another deep breath. Maybe she had misjudged things. She needed to regroup. She looked to see if she could spot Ewan nearby, but Lord Black had led her away from the festivities and now she was quite close to the front of the house. If she just kept on this path, she could sneak out and no one would be the wiser, except maybe Ewan; and the truth was, she wasn’t sure even he would miss her in this crowd.

o0o

Narcissa hadn’t missed the way her son’s eyes had lingered on his girlfriend during the wedding ceremony. If Draco’s thoughts were beginning to turn serious, she had no choice but to play her hand. Her son was already way past the end of his rope, and she feared he might make a misstep that would be significantly harder to undo.

The actions of others had surprised her as well. She wondered what exactly might be going on at Malfoy Manor that she wasn’t aware of. Had the girl put everyone under the Imperius curse? If Narcissa hadn’t seen it herself, she would not have believed anyone who told her how the young woman had found a dress and styled herself appropriately for the event.

She was loath to admit it, but Bellatrix was right, she was a pretty girl, if her mouth wasn’t open, and she was dressed in proper robes. She wondered who was helping her — clearly, she wasn’t doing this on her own.

But then, Narcissa had been shocked to her core, seeing that the girl was wearing a necklace from the Malfoy family vault. She knew that necklace (as she had made it her business to know all of the jewels that would be under her purview one day, sooner rather than later). It had been a gift for a Malfoy intended, many generations ago, sometime in the 1500s, she recalled.

Which then raised the question as to how the girl was wearing it in the first place.

What game was her mother-in-law playing at? Narcissa had seen Miss Granger from afar on the arm of her cousin, Sirius. He was smoothing her way, she guessed; but he had always had a thing for strays, given his ragtag band of friends. What she didn’t know was whether the old lady had sanctioned his actions or if he was just being the annoyingly helpful (read: meddling) Gryffindor-type that she knew him to be.

She hadn’t been so concerned at first; at least the American seemed to have discovered an appropriate sense of style. But given the sudden upgrade in her styling and her wearing that particular piece of jewelry, she wondered if other members of her family were actually accepting this ill-fated relationship, regardless of how many centuries of tradition it went against. She didn’t see how that could be, but she was unwilling to leave it to chance.

Between that and the goo goo eyes her son had been making during the wedding, Narcissa needed to act now. As Draco’s mother, it was her duty to act to protect him and everything their family stood for. She scanned the lawn and spotted the woman she was looking for. She excused herself from Lucius’s side and started walking towards the other woman’s direction, hoping to catch her eye so they might find a quiet place to chat.

“Pansy, dear, that is such a lovely dress. Wherever did you find it?”

_Start with flattery - the girl would eat it up and be far more open to suggestion._

“Oh, this old thing? Thank you, Aunt Narcissa.”

Pansy replied coyly, both of them knowing her dress was neither old nor any ordinary thing.

“I happened to find it at Madam Malkin's, but now that you mention it, the most curious thing happened while I was there. I know I shouldn’t say anything, but as you know, Draco means a lot to me, and I would hate for him to be taken advantage of.”

_This sounded interesting._

“Pansy, you know my son is more important to me than anyone. Please, if someone means to do him wrong, as his mother, I would insist that you let me know.”

_Sincerity and aggrievement. She was the wounded party, after all._

Pansy sighed and leaned in towards Narcissa.

_The girl was really becoming too familiar, but she let it pass, keen to hear what she had to say._

“I understand that Miss Granger’s dress was paid for out of the Malfoy vaults.”

_Jackpot._

“Is that so? Do you know this for a fact?” Narcissa responded. At least that explained how the usurper had ended up in that dress.

“Most certainly, I heard the conversation in the shop myself.”

“Well, that is important information for a mother to have. Thank you, Pansy. I appreciate you telling me this. It sounds like there is yet another reason that Draco needs to be protected from this woman.”

Narcissa slipped on the face of one who has the weight of the world on her shoulders. 

“I do hope he listens to reason, soon, but you know how boys can be. They never want to hear such things from their mothers.”

Pansy patted her arm.

“Don’t worry Aunt Narcissa, I think Draco just needs to be reminded about what is expected of him. I’ll talk to him, and I’ll see to it that the American regrets that she ever tried to take something that wasn’t hers.”

_Good._

o0o

Draco had led Hermione away from the crowd. It was quiet in the area of the garden that they were now walking; their way was lit by twinkling fairy lights.

“You seem to know your way around. Have you been here before?”

“Ah, see one garden and you’ve seen them all.” He joked before adding. “Sure, as you know, Daphne is my age, and she was part of my peer group. I’ve been here often enough.”

He stopped and turned towards her and held her gaze.

“You look so beautiful today, although I’m a bigger fan of your wild curls.” He touched the gentle twist that was currently hanging over her shoulder.

She smiled, doing her best to not blush under the sincerity of his compliment.

“You clean up pretty well yourself,” she kidded.

“And you know my fondness for green. If we weren’t here right now…” He moved closer and bent down to kiss her.

“Draco…” She chided, as his lips slid from hers and began kissing a trail down her neck. “I would hate for someone to come across the best man shirking his duties.”

“No one knows we’re here, love. Can you blame me? I’m simply overwhelmed by you.”

“But still, you can wait.”

Hermione stepped away from him, with a smile on her face.

“Later,” she said firmly, brushing her thumb over his lips, and giggling when he kissed it.

“You’re enjoying yourself?” Draco straightened, with some difficulty, and took her hand in his once more, so they could resume their tour of the back gardens.

She nodded.

“Sirius is a good date.”

He growled, his possessive side showing through, if only in jest.

“Be careful, witch.”

Hermione swatted his arm, unwilling to give his comment any serious consideration.

“You knew what I meant. Your aunt sat with us and Harry.”

She did not miss the roll of Draco’s eyes when Harry’s name was mentioned.

“What is it between the two of you two?”

“Nothing,” he evaded, thought they both knew she would tease it out of him later.

She knew him so well, and understood him better than most, if not all of those he had grown up with. He leaned down and claimed her lips once more, just a quick kiss, with a promise of his plans for thoroughly ravishing her later.

“I love you, you know.”

“So you keep telling me,” she smirked.

o0o

Pansy had a mission. A rescue mission, so to speak. She had the Malfoy matriarch eating out of the palm of her hand. It would be an absolute pleasure to give that girl her comeuppance, but first she had to find Draco. That was easier said than done in a crowd this size, but she kept her eye out for a shock of blond hair. Having not spotted him with the usual suspects, she expanded her search. 

She walked towards the back garden, wondering if Draco would be so predictable. The back garden — hidden from view by an imposing privet hedge. It was one of the quieter spots on the grounds, which had made it an ideal spot for anyone who wanted to slip away from prying eyes, particularly young adults.

It was where she had had her first kiss, with the very boy she was now seeking, and many more after that, as they had slipped away from the crowd at yet another social event. Her mother was neither blind to her indiscretions nor disapproving.

_“You can’t give him everything all at once, Pansy, no matter how much you may want to. You have to make him want you, and you do that by leaving him wanting more. Every time, give him just a little bit more, and eventually, he’ll be yours.”_

Neither her nor her mother’s plans had accounted for the troubling days the wizarding world had experienced, nor the unexpected division in the Slytherin common room as some of her peers seemed to forget what they had been born to — what their responsibilities were.

She could forgive that.

Nor had they taken into account Draco leaving for the States, leaving both his heritage and her far behind.

But that, too, she could overlook, as long as he did what was right in the end.

She heard their voices before she saw them, although she was too far away to know what they were saying; then Draco bent down as if to kiss the usurper, and she called out before she could stop herself.

“Draco…”

Draco froze and turned towards her, straightening up.

“How funny to find you back here. It seems like just yesterday we were slipping away from Daphne’s birthday party to come here to snog… among other things.”

Her voice was heavy with innuendo.

“Of course, you’d want to bring Hermione here to show her the sight of _so many_ of our firsts.”

Pansy smiled with faux sweetness, watching her arrows hit their intended target.

Draco’s eyes flashed, but Hermione looked aghast.

Good. She should know this was well-worn ground, that she was nothing special; because Pansy had been here long before her, and intended to be here long after her.

Draco’s voice was cold. “What do you want, Pansy?”

“Blaise was looking for you. I told him I’d fetch you.” It wasn’t the most clever of lies, but she doubted she’d be found out.

She watched him turn to Hermione and make his excuses before leaving her, heading back towards the wedding.

Pansy couldn’t help herself; as Draco strode past her and she turned to follow, she looked back and gave Hermione a grin that said everything she couldn’t say out loud.

_You may think he’s here with you, but as soon as I called, he came running._

o0o

As the evening dragged on, Astoria decided to slip up the stairs to her old bedroom. It was such a large event, she wouldn’t be missed, and if she was, her absence could be explained away easily enough. She opened the door to her room and smiled. It was the one place that was still hers, untainted by the veneer of her married persona. She walked over to the dolls in the corner and ran her hand over them, remembering how excited she had been to receive each one. She righted one that had fallen on its side, remembering her father had bought that one in Paris. She moved over to the bookshelf next, looking at the photos displayed on top. There was one of her and Marcus — their formal engagement photo — and she turned it face down.

This room was such a time capsule, a snapshot of who she had been. She remembered the girl who played with dolls, who had believed in fairy tale endings and could spend hours reading or practicing her stitch work, because every pureblood girl needed some talent. However, Astoria had long ago left that little girl behind. She was far more practical now and much more worldly, and better for it, she thought.

As she crossed the room, there was a soft knock at the door and the handle turned.

“Tori?”

She smiled in anticipation.

“Colin.”

The man crossed the room in three strides, swept her into his arms, and began to kiss her passionately. After a moment, he pulled back to look at her.

“You won’t be missed?”

“Not for a little while. Long enough, I’m sure. And you?”

“On break. Although, I’ve already taken enough photos to fill the Prophet for a week.”

“Well, let’s not waste any time.”

She began to untie his tie and wrapped it around her hand, using it to lead him towards her bed.

Yes, Astoria was nothing, if not practical. It just so happened that she was sleeping with the photographer from the _Daily Prophet_. Colin Creevey was a much better lover than Marcus could ever be; he always made it his mission to worship every bit of her, and that was far from the only benefit. His knowledge of the muggle world would be important if one day, if she decided to just slip away from all of this. And most importantly, if you were shagging the photographer, you never got a photo printed in the paper that you didn’t like.

o0o

“If you repeat it, I’ll be sure to deny it, but they do make a lovely couple out there.”

Harry came to stand beside Theo and handed him a glass of champagne, as he watched Draco and Hermione on the dance floor. While Hermione’s waltzing skills were clearly not as strong as Draco’s, neither of them seemed to mind.

Theo wondered how Hermione was faring in this environment, whether she was aware of all of the comments being dropped by people who would never bother to get to know her, instead choosing to judge her based on rumour and innuendo. It wasn’t nice, and it certainly wasn’t fair; he hoped she was oblivious to it. Selina had alluded to some challenges, but wouldn’t be more specific, explaining that it wasn’t her story to tell. It made him uneasy. At least right now, Draco was keeping her busy.

He knew how important Hermione was to his cousin, that whether he realized it or not, she was like the rudder to his ship, keeping him on course and moving forward in the new life Draco had chosen to build.

He took a sip from the proffered glass, keeping his eyes on the dance floor.

“He’s changed, you know.”

“I know you’ve said that. The fact that he’s dancing with a muggleborn screams that, but all I can see is the prat from school.”

Theo raised an eyebrow. “If we’re all to be judged for our worst behavior, you’d be here by yourself, Mr. Potter.”

“Touché.”

The two men stood side by side, continuing to watch the parade of gowns and dress robes twirling around the floor, while in the middle of it, two lovers had eyes only for each other, oblivious to the world around them.

Theo was hit with a pang of longing and decided that for once, he could be the bold one.

He turned and offered Harry his hand.

“Would you care to dance, Mr. Potter?”

Harry’s expression was one of surprise, as if that was the last thing he thought would come out of Theo’s mouth.

He wasn’t wrong. Dancing with Harry here, with so many around would be making a statement. It may not be as strong a statement as Draco and Hermione were making at the moment, but it was still a bold move. However, Theo decided that he had had enough of tip-toeing around. He wasn’t ashamed to be seen with Harry, and he didn’t really care who knew. What did matter was that he would be true to himself and to the man who he thought he just might be able to love.

His Aunt Narcissa might roll her eyes at his theatrics and would surely castigate him for not finding a pureblood wizard, but he could handle that. After all, what use was being his own man if he only lived his life in the shadows.

Harry must have seen the look of determination in his eyes. He took Theo’s hand and let him lead him towards the other couple they had been watching on the dance floor.

Draco caught his eye and smirked as the two of them stood, trying to work out the logistics. He didn’t look at all surprised to see them together. So much for his discretion.

“But, I get to lead, right?”

Harry held his hands in the position he assumed he was taking, but Theo shook his head.

“Not a chance, I asked you first. You forget, I’ve seen you dance, and unlike your single foray with Professor McGonagall, I have years of dance lessons under my belt.”

He adjusted his grip and Harry’s face showed a mixture of humor and trepidation, as he realized what he was going to have to do.

o0o

There hadn’t been a good time for Pansy to catch Draco on his own — either he was on the dance floor or off with Blaise or Theo. She needed to talk to him. She needed to make clear where she stood, so he saw her as an option — as a way out of the mess he was making of things.

She wasn’t even enjoying the reception, given she needed to keep an eye on him and take the first opportunity she could to have a word with him. She lamented the social custom that said that only men could cut in on a dance. Draco had been dancing with the girl for quite a while. Meanwhile, Pansy had turned down opportunities, just so she could remain free.

This was it. She needed him to remember what they had been to each other, and how this world worked. It would be so much easier if he was on board with a betrothal contract between their families. No one wanted to marry someone who was actively against them. She knew that Draco would settle to the idea, she just had to talk to him and make him see reason.

Aunt Narcissa was counting on her. Her parents were counting on her. It all felt a bit suffocating, if she were honest. Why is it that other people had options with what they could do with their lives, when Pansy had been singularly focused on one thing for as long as she could remember?

Not that she was complaining — being the future Lady Malfoy would allow her to satisfy her every whim and and want whenever she chose. That was the payoff, but still…

Pansy saw Draco walk towards the house and started to follow. Five minutes alone. That’s all she needed. The house was quiet; she waited for him to emerge from the loo.

“Draco.”

“Pansy, I hope you’re enjoying yourself this evening.”

“Actually, I’ve been hoping to talk to you.”

She noticed Draco stiffen when she touched his arm.

“We haven’t had a chance to catch up at all since you’ve been back. I know you’ve been busy…”

“There’s no need for us to catch up, Pansy; I’m with Hermione.”

“ _I’m well aware._ ”

That came out a bit sharper than she was expecting. She softened her tone.

“Look, Draco. We’ve known each other a long time, and we both know how things work. Whatever you feel for that girl, your parents are going to insist you marry one of us. I get it; you have feelings for her. I’m not blind, but she’s not a proper wife for you. But, I’m nothing if not practical. As long as you’re discrete, I’m willing to look the other way.”

Draco’s jaw was set and his eyes were furious. She knew it must sting, but it was necessary. He needed to hear the truth. He needed to be made to see reason.

“Draco, be honest with yourself,” she pleaded. “It’s never going to work. At least with me, you can keep her, if that’s what you want.”

“That is not what I want at all. And you can report that back to my mother, if you must.”

Draco’s voice was cold and his words stung. He started walking away, but turned back to make sure that Pansy knew that any ember she thought might remain between them was well and truly out.

“You and I grew apart a long time ago, Pansy. As for me, this is my life, and I’ll do what I damn well please. Maybe _you_ should try that sometime.”

o0o

Hermione made her way over to a table. She was glad to have a chance to sit down. Jolly was a whiz with a cushioning charm, but she still needed a rest.Draco had kept her dancing for quite a while — and that was even before Sirius had cut in, claiming he was owed a spin around the room as well. Hermione knew her form wasn’t nearly as polished as Draco’s was, given dance instruction had most likely been part of his upbringing. Looking back, it was funny how he had always brushed off her compliments on how wonderful a dance partner he was, the grace with which he moved on the floor. He had always waved it off.

Now she knew better, and considered other facets of their interactions that may have been subtly influenced by his upbringing.

There were always flowers in his apartment — he said they were for her, but having seen the Manor, as well as his parents’ house and how flowers were featured so prominently everywhere they had been, she realized that he was probably just used to having them around.

He had never let her pay for anything, even though out of the two, she had the better salary, since he was working on his Potions mastery. She had never made much of it. It wasn’t that he made a big show of paying for things; rather, the opposite, as she thought about it. It was as if money wasn’t important to him at all. And now, seeing how he had been raised, she understood, it truly wasn’t. 

She shook her head. Their worlds were so different. She wondered what had conspired to bring the two of them together, but then a darker thought crossed her mind. Given all she knew now, was it enough to keep them together? She loved Draco, but this — everything around her — was a lot to take in. And then there was the matter of his family. There were expectations attached to who he was and who he would be. Everyone else seemed aware of this, and she now knew that none of those expectations involved being with someone like her.

Selina came and sat next to her, carrying two fresh glasses of champagne; she handed one to Hermione and took a sip from the other.

“You looked like you were having a good time out there.”

Hermione looked at her. She had questions. She wasn’t sure whether they were based in her own curiosity or if the answers were something she needed to make sense of everything.

“Can I ask you something?”

Selina nodded. “Sure.”

“Did you have to take dance lessons?”

Selina nodded and waved her hand around.

“Of course. Most of the people in this room were subjected to years of ballroom dance. How else do you think we learned all of this? But, truly, you and Draco looked good out there.

“I guess it’s all about who leads.” Hermione forced a smile. “And did you have to do other lessons when you were growing up?”

“Did I ever, at least while my father was alive.” Selina rolled her eyes.

“Let’s see, in addition to dancing, there’s comportment and etiquette. Everyone generally has to learn at least one instrument, unless you have absolutely no aptitude for it. The girls have to develop a skill appropriate for the parlor, something to show her talent: needlework, painting… that sort of thing. For example, I’m a terrible harpist, absolutely awful. I’m not sure who was more relieved when my mother finally let me stop, me or the instructor.”

“But surely Draco has told you about all of this.” Selina looked off in thought. “Both he and Blaise took fencing, riding, and flying, of course.”

“We have to have something to fill our days before we head off to school. There are tutors for most, and different masters to come teach whatever is needed: languages, spell theory, and then there’s family history.”

Hermione was surprised by the size of the list of things that would occupy the time of young wizards and witches.

“Spell theory?”

“Oh, yes. While we may be too young to do magic, if you have an aptitude for it, you are given help to develop and control accidental magic before you are given a wand to help channel it. It’s a great source of pride when a young witch or wizard starts to display accidental magic — who does what, who does it first. I think that is one of the areas where our parents actually took an interest in our lives.”

Hermione was astounded. Her experience with accidental magic had been terrifying, as she and her mother struggled to understand what was happening, but instead, for the people around her, it had been celebrated and even encouraged.

In her early days at Ilvermorny, she had felt like she was playing catch up to those who seemed to innately know more than her. She had chalked it up to growing up in a non-magical household, as the things that were a shock to her were taken for granted by others. But, Selina’s words brought it all into sharper focus. Some, like Draco, were born being prepped to succeed, learning things that someone like her would never have known. Hermione had worked hard to make sure she was at the top of her class so her mother would be proud, but more importantly, so that no one could ever question whether she belonged at Ilvermorny. For a long time, she had been at least a little worried that she could lose it all — that her magic could be taken away, after she finally realized where she belonged. Hermione took a large sip of her champagne. It was a lot to take in.

Some of the other bridesmaids came and filled in at the table: Millicent, Tracey and Ashleigh joined them. They chatted with Selina and were cordial to Hermione as she tried to settle her racing thoughts.

As soon as Pansy sat down at the table, Hermione knew no good would come of it.

“So, this is what you get with Malfoy Galleons.” The woman waved her hand at Hermione’s dress.

Hermione was puzzled.

“I was there, you know. You can’t pretend; I know what you did.”

Hermione took a deep breath. Pansy must have been in Madam Malkin’s and overheard the conversation while she and Ginny had been shopping there.

“That’s not what this is.” She answered quietly, not wishing to engage the woman any further.

It was Selina who spoke up, “Really, Pansy? You don’t know a Delacour when you see one?”

Several of the mouths at the table fell open, whether at the provenance of Hermione’s dress or because Selina had dared to challenge Pansy was unclear, while Hermione wished she could crawl under the table. She had no interest in having to deal with Pansy right now.

“You’re kidding me. I haven’t seen it yet.”

“That’s because _it hasn’t been released yet_. Hermione, here, has an inside track.” Selina bit back.

The other girls turned to Hermione for confirmation. She reluctantly nodded.

“Gabrielle was insistent that I wear one of her new pieces; she brought it and did my fitting herself.”

The other girls seemed to be suitably impressed, but if Pansy had been surprised by the revelation, she didn’t show it. Hermione knew that the woman’s main objective was to make her feel uncomfortable and unwelcome, but frankly, she was tired of it. She didn’t want to make a scene; didn’t want to draw more attention to herself than was already on her. Too many people already expected her to act inappropriately, and she had no interest in giving them the satisfaction. It was almost the end of the night. 

The table was silent for a moment before Pansy continued.

“Well, you can wear whatever you want but it won’t make you an appropriate partner for Draco.”

Of course, this is what it always came back to.

“So Hermione, tell us, is Draco as talented in the oral arts as he used to be?”

“Pans!” Tracey exclaimed, shocked.

“What?” Pansy held her hands up. She had the audacity to feign surprise, as if she didn’t understand the reaction to such an inappropriate question.

“I’m just trying to make small talk, given Hermione and I have so much in common — both having been pleasured by the Great Draco Malfoy.”

Hermione was mortified. This went well beyond uncomfortable. If there ever was a time that she hoped that the floor would open up and swallow her, this was it.

Pansy, however, wasn't done yet. She looked around the room and started pointing at different women.

“And so has she, and her too, and… oh, there’s another one. Really, we should all get together and compare notes. But then again, Draco has always been a rather cunning linguist.” She turned her gaze to Hermione once again and tilted her head in mock endearment. “Wouldn’t you say?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well? Let me know what you think down below.


	20. Malfoy Manor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Continued thanks to the team: FrappuBean and Fandomfairytales.

Hermione was quiet, too quiet. Draco wasn’t sure whether she was just tired or if something was wrong. He had sensed things were tense when he walked up to the table, but Hermione had waved him off, saying she was fine and she would talk about it later. But now, as they prepared to return to the manor, something was telling him that all was not well.

Hermione slipped out of his embrace as soon as they stepped out of the Floo, citing the need to return the necklace she had borrowed to Cho. She hurried up the stairs and out of sight.

Draco sighed. It had been a long couple of days of glad-handing with people most of whom he didn’t really care for, although it had been good to spend time with his friends. There was only the post-wedding brunch to attend tomorrow and his duties would be done; then he and Hermione could head off and not look back. He stopped in the study to pour himself a drink before heading upstairs. 

The door to Hermione’s room was open when he reached it. He stepped into the room to find she had changed out of her dress without his help, although he had been looking forward to assisting in the unwrapping. However, rather than relaxing from the long day, Hermione seemed to be hastily gathering all her things and stuffing them inside her bag. He stood in the doorway and watched her for a moment before entering further, confused by what he was seeing.

“Hermione, what are you doing?”

She huffed. “I’m done. I can’t do this anymore. I can’t be here another moment, Draco.”

His face contorted. _What was she talking about?_

She stopped moving and used her hand to gesture around, but she wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“This, all of this. It’s just too much. I’m not a pawn in anyone’s game, especially one I’m not even interested in playing.”

He set his drink down and walked over to where she stood; she was breathing heavily. He took the clothes out of her hands and pulled her to sit at the edge of the bed with him.

“I don’t understand, Hermione. What happened?”

“Answer me this, have you slept with Pansy? No, no. That’s the wrong question. _How many_ of the women there tonight have you slept with? That’s my question.” She was too agitated to sit still; she jumped up and started pacing back and forth.

He frowned. He didn’t see how his sexual history was relevant to anything. He had a past; he’d never denied it, but he wasn’t in a relationship with, nor did he have feelings for any of those women. Hell, if he was honest, he wasn’t sure he could point them all out with total certainty. Such had been his life as a pampered princeling — many of the girls at his school had been happy to give him their time and attention, hoping in vain to get some of his.

“I don’t understand. Why is this an issue? I’m a grown man, you already know you weren’t my first; but regardless, that’s all in the past. I’m with you. Only you. None of the women in the room even remotely interest me, regardless of what I may have done when I was younger. Teenagers do a lot of stupid things, teenage boys, particularly.”

“Do you want to know why it’s an issue, Draco? Do you really want to know?”

It was a rhetorical question, as she went on without waiting for his answer.

“It’s an issue because I had to hear from Pansy about how _talented_ you are with oral sex. I can’t even repeat what she said to me! It was that bad. And then, I had to hear from her that you had had sex with any number of women there tonight as she pointed several of them out to me one by one — in front of the other bridesmaids. Coupled with the fact that several of those women, dear, sweet Pansy included, have been very clear with me that _I_ don’t belong with you, I’m tapping out. I’ve held my tongue; I’ve played nice even when they haven’t, but I’ve reached my limit. I can’t do this. I can’t stay here any longer.”

Draco sat stunned.

“What are you talking about? What do you mean? What happened?”

It all came spilling out. Hermione told him about the hen party and the Puking Pastilles, how she had been tired that morning back at the hotel not after a weekend of fun, but because she had just dragged herself back from Paris after a night of misery. She explained the way people had been talking to her and treating her since they had arrived. The sleights at the dinner at his parents’ house made sense now, as well as Pansy’s behavior towards him at the wedding. 

He was gobsmacked. He felt like an idiot; all of this had been going on and he hadn’t realized it. Worse, it meant he had left Hermione to deal with it on her own.

“What? Why didn’t you say anything? I had no idea.”

Her face crumpled.

“You’ve been so focused on the wedding, I didn’t want to bother you. I don’t want to come between you and your friends, or your family, for that matter. This is your world, it was up to me to find a way to stand by you and be what you needed. I mean, you know I’m good at figuring things out. I saw this as another puzzle, just one with higher stakes, I guess. But now, I’m done. I’ve had enough. I can’t do it anymore.” She stood with her arms folded and her eyes closed.

He buried his head in his hands. “Fuck. This is all my fault. Theo told me I should have prepared you. I didn’t believe him. I thought he was exaggerating, when he was spot on the entire time.”

“You think?” Hermione’s voice was bitter.

She walked over and picked up the book on her bedside table - the one on pureblood etiquette. He hadn’t noticed her reading it, or he would have told her what a load of codswallop it was — written by people who thought too much of themselves, and meant to be read by those like them.

“I have to read in here about what I’m supposed to know to navigate this morass, because you didn’t bother to tell me anything. You brought me here and dropped me into a world that I know nothing about, and don’t fit in — not that I would even want to. Draco, these people are ridiculous.”

“You’ll get no argument from me there.”

Draco reached for her, but she stepped further away, and his hand was left hanging in the air.

He hadn’t seen Hermione like this before — she was passionate about her positions and could get lost in a debate, but he had never experienced her anger turned towards him, not like this. He sat for a moment watching her catch her breath.

She narrowed her eyes. “And do you know what bothers me the most?”

She took in a stuttering breath and he realized she was trying not to cry.

“What?” He responded reflexively.

“It’s not that I had to navigate all of this or what those girls did; as much as it sucked, I could handle all of that. It’s that I feel like you didn’t trust me enough to share any of this with me before we came.”

That was a blow to the gut. Draco sat stunned that she could feel that way. Of course he trusted Hermione; he loved her more than anything.

He stood and walked over to her.

Her tears were flowing freely now. He tried to wipe them, but she batted his hand away.

“I do trust you, Hermione. You know I do.”

“I’m not even sure I know who you are.” She sobbed and his heart broke with the thought that he was the cause of her unhappiness.

She was right. Draco hadn’t shared this part of himself because this wasn’t who he was anymore. Yes, the people around him might see him as something else, as a shadow of the past, but he had long ago moved on from all of this, as his understanding of the world grew, as he learned more and began to form his own ideas about how things should work. What he learned through that journey was that what he wanted for himself was entirely different than how he had been raised, and he had left that world — and that version of himself — behind some time ago.Clearly, he should have tried to explain it to her, he shouldn’t have kept that part of himself locked away.

He reached out and lifted her chin, imploring her to look him in the eyes, to see that he was the man who had been in love with her for the better part of the last two years. She was hurting due to his inaction, and it was painful to them both, but she did know who he was. He had always been honest and open with her. Out of anyone, she knew who Draco Malfoy really was, without the prattishness of his youth or the mental walls that were so prevalent in those he had grown up around, more consumed with appearances and alliances than genuine connections. He spoke softly, his voice low.

“You know exactly who I am, Hermione. I’m the same Draco who loves potions and spicy food, even though it doesn’t always love me back; and who learned how to work a cell phone so he could get to know the beautiful girl that he met in a coffee shop. I’m the same one who leaves his socks on the floor, but makes sure there are flowers on the table because I love the way your face lights up when you see them; who loves your hair and your brilliant mind and your mother’s cooking; and who’d rather sit at home and curl up and watch a movie with you than just about anything else. Nothing else matters in comparison, nothing.”

She hadn’t looked away yet, so he took the chance to pull her into his arms, and held her tightly.

“I completely bollocksed this, Hermione. Clearly, I fucked up. You’re right. Theo was right. I should have prepared you. No, I shouldn’t have hidden this. But to me, it wasn’t hiding. It wasn’t a conscious act at all. My moving to America was a chance to start a new life, not only to learn, but to leave some of the vestiges of the past behind. There are things in my past that I’m not particularly proud of, or comfortable with. But, they’re in the past. When I asked you to come here with me, my only thought was to give the people who I care about a chance to meet you and for you to meet them. That’s all. I didn’t realize that it would be so convoluted. I certainly never meant for you to feel this way.”

He felt her ragged breaths against his chest, as she worked to calm down, but he didn’t dare relax his arms, lest she push him away again.

“How can you say this isn’t who you are, Draco? This house has your name on it. Your family, this society — they all have expectations for you. They all have decided how your life is supposed to go. I can’t compete with that. I certainly am not like these other women. Every time we go somewhere, I almost have a panic attack about what I’m supposed to wear or who I’m supposed to curtsy to, who I can talk to or who I need to avoid. This isn’t me. I don’t belong here.”

He manoeuvred them back to the bed and he sat, settling her on his lap. He kept his arms wrapped around her, hoping she would lean into him.

“Now can you see why I left? This isn’t me either. I won’t say I wasn’t raised for it, because you’re right, I was; but I’d like to think that I left the ideals of this world behind some time ago.”

He took a deep breath.

“But more importantly, you belong anywhere you want to be, Hermione Granger. I am the luckiest man alive that you ever gave me the time of day. I’m the one who is thankful everyday that I get to be with you. I don’t care what _or who_ any of these people want for me because I have everything I want right here.” He squeezed her more tightly and finally felt her begin to relax.

She sighed; her adrenaline was waning and all the events of the day were catching up with her.

“I’m tired, Draco.”

He knew that was a statement not just for the present, but about all of it.

“I’m sorry this has all gone tits up. I’m sorry you ever doubted yourself. I’m sorry I was so blind to it all. Let me make it up to you. Let’s go somewhere tomorrow. There’s something I’d like to show you.”

“But the brunch-”

“-Will be fine without me. But I won’t be fine without you. Let me do this for us. It’ll be a chance to reset away from-“ He looked around the room, recognizing for the first time how utterly foreign the manor with its tall ceilings, antiques, and tapestries must be for her. “-all of this; just the two of us.”

“Back to the suite at Blaise’s hotel?”

He shook his head. “No, nothing like that. I was thinking something a little more personal. Although, you’ll need to side-along to get there.”

She took a deep breath, and his heart began to unclench, finally feeling that he may not have completely messed things up between them.

“Come, let’s get you into bed, love. It’s been a long day.”

“A long week.”

“Indeed.”

He settled her in the bed and helped her pull her jeans off, leaving her in her t-shirt; that would work for tonight. He then used his wand to move her things from the bed, back into the closet; and then kicked off his shoes and shrugged off his dress robes, glad to be out of them at last. His pants would have to do for the night; he didn’t want to leave Hermione even for a moment to get anything else from his room.

“If we’re leaving tomorrow, I’ll still need all that.” Her voice was quieter, as if sleep wouldn’t wait much longer. She was wrung out on all the emotions that had come to the surface, everything she had been burying away.

“But not until tomorrow,” he explained while crawling into bed behind her and extinguishing the lights with his wand.

He wrapped his arms around her once more and pulled her against his chest, using his thumb to idly trace runes onto her hip, as he did so often. He knew the action would soothe her, as she paid attention to his strokes, trying to work out what he was writing and letting the rest of the troubles of the day drift away.

“ _Kenaz,_ ” she whispered, recognizing the simple lines.

He saw her as overflowing with knowledge and she was much of his inspiration.

“ _Wunjo_.”

Joy and pleasure - what they were to each other and what they took from each other.

His fingers drew the lines for _Othala_ , the feminine — alluding to the goddess that she was and also the home for him that she had become; but it also spoke to more, as he lay here in his ancestral home, pondering the future laid out before him.

She didn’t speak after that one, and Draco knew she had fallen asleep. He gently kissed the back of her head and whispered to her. “I love you, Hermione, and I’m so, so sorry.”

Her breathing had evened out, but it was a while longer before Draco nodded off.

He had much to do, if he wanted to make this up to her. She never should have felt inadequate by his side. He was furious with anyone who thought to make her feel otherwise. Pansy was delusional. What she had done went across any line of decency. What had the woman been thinking? Did she expect he wouldn’t have found out? Or that he wouldn’t have minded her interference?

However, Pansy was not his current concern. He would deal with her if and when he had to. Right now, he had more important things to do, and first thing tomorrow morning, he would pay a visit to his parents and get started on his list. He expected they wouldn’t be thrilled, but he would make them see just how important Hermione was to him and how far he was willing to go to keep her in his life. He breathed in deeply, the scent of her filling his nostrils, calming his racing thoughts.

His fingers traced one additional rune on her hip, one he had never traced before.

 _Gebo_. It was the easiest rune of all, save for _Isa_ , but maybe the most loaded. He had told Hermione he had loved her more times than he could count, and he meant every word. But Gebo spoke to a deeper connection — to a binding partnership that he had only today realized that he was ready for and wanted, with her.

His fingers continued to trace the simple X on her hip, imbuing it with all the meaning he could. He loved this woman more than anything and in the morning, he would set about making it all right between them.


	21. Holland Park

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My thanks to Fandomfairytales and Kifiyathewriter for the alphabet assistance on this chapter!

Draco woke early the next morning, easing out of bed as the sun rose. He was careful not to wake Hermione; she needed her rest. He was showered before anyone else in the manor had stirred and stood in his closet, deciding what robes he wanted to wear. He finally settled on a more traditionally tailored set from Twilfitt and Tattings in a charcoal grey.

He put on his cufflinks engraved with the family monogram — he had left them behind at the manor when he traveled to New York, neither needing them nor caring to portray the type of image they would strike. In New York, he wasn’t Draco Malfoy, heir to the Malfoy family fortune, he wasn’t a playboy sowing his oats before an expected (and for many, hoped for) engagement. He was just another working stiff, albeit one who didn’t have to worry about paying his rent at the end of the month.

He liked the anonymity that came with it, something he had nothing of in Britain. Here, his blond head and his last name ensured people knew who he was, and always had an opinion to go with that, whether positive or negative. As much as his family saw themselves at the pinnacle of society, he saw it more as a house of cards. The Malfoys weren’t loved or adored. They were envied or despised, emulated or dismissed as a relic of the past. Who needed a ruling class anyways? The only people that did were the people actually in it, in an attempt to make meaning out of their limited lives, and the rags that made money off of dripping the details of those lives to those who read about them.

His name was why he had so few close friends, as he had to be careful who to let inside his circle. One could have groupies and hangers-on, but true actual friends who would help you get out of a jam, rather than laugh at your misfortune, those were rare for a Malfoy, indeed.

His name, coupled with how he had been raised, had had him letting girls suck him off in broom closets long before he knew anything about love or cared anything for anyone’s feelings, save his own. Relationships, if they happened at all, were strategic, and lasted only as long as their usefulness did, which is perhaps why he was as ‘lucky’ as he was, with so many families seeking to curry favor with the Malfoys, as if riding his rather inexperienced, but eager cock might help close a business deal with his father. He shuddered to think of the times that might have been true.

In New York, however, no one knew or cared what his name was. Sure, he could have easily slipped into what passed in America for the elite, attending parties and going on high-profile dates with women who could trace their ancestry to some tenuous and ancient tie to the Sacred Twenty-Eight. If he had come home with one of those girls, his mother may have grumbled that she wasn’t British, but she would have looked the other way, particularly if she was from one of the older American wizarding families.

That’s not how it worked in America, though; over there, status, if it mattered at all, was determined by what one could do, by who held actual power, not the size of one’s vault, or some trumped up ancestral claim of superiority. In that world, it was so much easier and felt far more natural for Draco to take his place within the hoi polloi, mingling with the masses of humanity on the streets, as they all tried to go about their lives as best they could.

And then, there was Hermione. She had been unexpected, to say the least. He had not been looking for love, content to focus on his studies, but once he met her, he was smitten, and his feelings for her had only grown over time, as they learned each other and developed an easy rhythm. She understood his love for potions, didn’t mind when he had a late night stirring schedule, and he could sit and watch her mind work as she read. More than the passion between them was the way they fit together so well. He felt she had given him a piece of his soul back; one that he hadn’t even realized was missing. And, he could be his highest and best self with her, in a way he had never been before.

She was it for him, plain and simple, and he felt a bit foolish for taking so long to realize it. He slipped back into her room to leave a note for her before heading outside. He wanted to walk for a bit in the brisk morning air, so he could clear his head and collect his thoughts before heading to London. He was not looking forward to the confrontation ahead, but it was time and it was necessary.

By eight o’clock, he was as ready as he could be.

His parents would be sitting down to breakfast soon. If nothing else, when one lived a life of leisure, one often developed a schedule by which to help mark the passage of time. His parents were such creatures of habit: breakfast was always at eight.

Draco took a deep breath and occluded. He had begun learning Occlumency when young, although now he saw it as more of a bad habit than a necessary skill. It was a reflex for him to retreat between the walls of his mind when he needed to think, when he felt emotion rising within himself. It was essential in this society, where feelings were considered a sign of weakness, something to be exploited, rather than cherished as a sign of authentic and true emotion.

His mother had drilled the lessons into him, chastising her young son for his tears or outbursts, until they no longer came, and instead stayed bottled up inside himself. It was no wonder these people were so dysfunctional, choosing to use emotions as currency. For Draco, he had worked to undo the damage of so many years of repression; and he was still working on it. Hermione had shown him how emotions were a gift, the strength of the connection they created, and the joy (and pain) in feeling as a necessary catharsis.

Fortunately, Occlumency wasn’t a skill one easily forgot. He stood and regulated his breathing, tucking away his churning thoughts about the prior night, particularly what looked like his mother’s fingerprints all over what had happened. He needed to go into this conversation with a level head and at least appear to be the dutiful son, before he made clear his unwillingness to participate in their delusions any longer. The only way he was willing to be a Malfoy was on his own terms.

He took one last look down at himself, adjusted his cuffs, and Apparated into the foyer at Holland Park before making his way to the breakfast room.

o0o

Narcissa was pleased to see her son for breakfast, particularly since he appeared to be alone.

“Draco, what a pleasant surprise.”

“Good morning Father, Mother.”

Her son kissed her on the cheek and then sat and began to fill his plate.

“Are you by yourself this morning?”

_Have you sent that trash packing?_

“I am.”

He offered no further details.

“To what do we owe the pleasure of your company this morning, son?”

Lucius put his paper down.

“Given we haven’t had a chance to speak at length, Father, I thought this might be a good time.”

Lucius allowed himself a rare smile, happy for once to have his preferred conversation partner back.

As the two Malfoy men began talking of business, potions, and the workings of the estate: all topics she had no interest in, Narcissa took the opportunity to take a good look at her son. While she had seen him at dinner, and at the various wedding activities, now, in the morning light, she had a better chance to lay eyes on him.

His face had matured in the last two years, settling into the angled jaw of a Malfoy man. His hair was longer than she preferred, that wasn’t a battle she needed to take on, but he was impeccably dressed — his robes, his countenance, other than slight rings under his eyes, no doubt due to the painful break up he had just been through.

Draco was so much like his father, albeit with a stronger constitution that she attributed to her having raised him. His independence was both a blessing and a curse, however, as the distance between them attested.

Draco. The dragon. It was a fitting name for one born to be a leader.

Choosing his name had not been easy— finding one that would satisfy the traditions of both their families, the Malfoys favored such frivolous Romanesque names, while her family’s names were almost always taken from the stars and constellations in the sky. Given how few Blacks were remaining, she made clear to her husband that her son would carry their name and their traditions, and she would in turn press Draco to carry it on with his own son. The sky was replete with tales of heroes, while the Roman Empire had fallen long ago.

Seeing her son as an adult, talking to his father like an equal, she knew he was ready to take his place among them. Hadn’t they always known that the combination of the Malfoy and Black bloodlines would produce progeny that had no equal? She could only hope that her son’s match would be as significant, continuing to refine their lines, not just for strategic alliances, but for magical skill and power. Her son hadn’t been top of his class at Hogwarts for nothing. Add to that his accolades as Quidditch Captain and other honors he had received, and she knew her son had as much substance behind him as his achievements reflected.

But what to say about this little episode? The fact was, given he was a Malfoy, most families would overlook such an escapade. His societal slip up might be all the talk right now, but if it was well and truly ended, the inquiries would begin again soon enough. After all, no one could match their vaults, prestige, or power. No one.

Narcissa couldn’t help but be pleased that Pansy had been successful. She would have to invite the Parkinson women over for tea to find out how she had done it. After all, it was so much better for her to keep her own hands clean — to let Draco believe that it was his own choice to break things off. She might also have to put in a good word for Pansy with her son; she owed her that much, if Draco had finally seen the error of his ways and decided to let go of the American girl.

However, she wouldn’t push too hard. She firmly believed there were better options out there, given the rumblings of the size of the Parkinsons’ vaults. Besides, Pansy had such unfortunately narrow hips; magical pregnancies were hard enough without conformation issues. Malfoys only deserved the best in everything, brides included, and for her son, she would be sure to find it.

Sitting around the table for breakfast like this, father and son bonding over their shared interests, reminded her of times past, when things were less complicated, when her son’s obedience wasn’t questionable — when he didn’t see more for himself than what was laid before him. But, he was here now, and it appeared he had seen the error of his ways and had returned to the fold.

She watched in curiosity as Draco set his napkin aside and push back from the table, having finished his meal. An elf stepped up to collect his plate.

“Surely you aren’t leaving so soon, Draco. You’ve barely just arrived.”

“Actually Mother, I will be leaving shortly, right after I run up to my room. I’m heading out of town for a few days.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, I’m taking Hermione to Grand-Mère’s château."

So, she was still around. Narcissa instantly realized that her son’s visit was a ruse; that he had purposefully tried to put them at ease. She developed a sinking feeling in her stomach, knowing there were only a few things in this house that he might need that he didn’t already have.

“I’ve come to get the Malfoy engagement ring. I’m going to ask Hermione to marry me.”

Narcissa gasped.

“You what?”

Draco’s voice remained calm. “You heard me, Mother.”

“You can’t do that.”

“I can and I will; and if I’m lucky enough, she’ll say yes.”

He was correct, in part. The Malfoy engagement ring was passed to the heir when they reached the age of majority. It was a symbolic gesture, but it did mean that Draco was already in possession of the ring; and while gifting it wouldn’t create a magically binding contract, anyone who saw the distinctive ring would know what it meant.

“You don’t understand, Draco. She’s entirely unsuitable. You don’t even know who this girl is.”

“No, Mother. You don’t understand. I love Hermione and she is who I plan to marry. I know you haven’t bothered to get to know her, but once you do, I think you’ll come to love her as I do. And if you don’t, then that will be your loss, not ours.”

The impertinence of this child! Misty-eyed and sentimental because of yesterday’s spectacle. Curse the Greengrasses. That was the problem with love-matches, you let one happen and everyone suddenly thought they had the right of self-determination.

As if he had a say in who he married?! That wasn’t how things worked. This wasn’t what he had been raised for — to throw away their impeccable lineage on some foolish idea of love. He was a Malfoy — and a Black — and that came with expectations. She had no interest in becoming a laughingstock, forever forced to explain how the purity of the Malfoy line had come to an end on her own watch. What he was suggesting was tantamount to social suicide in the circles they frequented. He was her son, and she would make him understand.

“Lucius — do you hear this? Say something! Stop this madness.”

But Lucius said nothing; he looked amused, as if this was the most entertainment he had seen in quite some time. She turned her vitriol on him, disgusted that he could sit idly by and not speak up.

“Ugh — once again, you are good for nothing.”

Lucius merely raised an eyebrow and ignored her, turning his attention to his son.

“And what does your grandmother have to say about this?”

Draco stilled and said nothing, as if he hadn’t expected that question.

At last, a worthwhile contribution from her husband. Even Draco knew that his match would have to be approved by the Malfoy matriarch, and he would never want to disappoint his dear Grand-Mère. Narcissa kept a smile off of her face, knowing those were the exact words needed to stop this madness in its tracks.

For a moment the room was silent, as she and her son both sat there, breathing heavily. The tension was thick. She gave him a moment to regain his head before she pressed the point.

“Yes, Draco, What are you prepared to lose? Make the girl your mistress if you must, but surely you know your grandmother will never approve such a match. Are you willing to be disowned over a folly? You need to see reason.”

She knew he had feelings for the girl, and she knew he could be stubborn, but he couldn’t dismiss who he was — who he was meant to be.

She watched her son take a deep breath and school his features, every bit the Slytherin she had raised him to be. His next next words were spoken very deliberately, his voice devoid of all emotion.

“Let me be very clear with you both. I am a grown man, not a little boy who is eager for his parents' approval. The values that you seem to hold so dear repulse me; I care nothing for the society that you think matters so much. Hermione is far more important to me than either titles or vaults, so if you think that is something you can hang over my head, you’re mistaken.”

Draco rose from the table and left the room, and Narcissa followed him into the entrance hall, raising her voice so he would be sure to hear her displeasure as he bounded the stairs two at a time.

“We’re not done talking about this, Draco. You cannot do this. There are things you don’t realize; things you don’t understand.”

He was gone for only a moment before heading back downstairs with the ring box in his hand.

“On the contrary, Mother, I understand perfectly. You’d rather cleave to outdated supremacist ideals than recognize that times have changed and we need to change with them. I’ve made my decision; and you’ll have to decide for yourself whether you can live with it. Goodbye.”

He swept past her without stopping, and she called after him as his footsteps echoed on the polished floors.

“Draco, no. Don’t do this. Don’t you dare leave this house! You will regret this! Come back here this instant!”

He reached the Floo room and though she could no longer see him, she heard him call out for the manor and the answering sound of the flames in the fireplace as he stepped through without another word.

As the flames died down, the house fell quiet once again, too quiet in the aftermath of her outburst. Narcissa didn’t like how it felt to lose control of her emotions. She was an expert in expressing things like distaste, scorn, and reprobation, but she was always in control; Draco had pushed too far.She found her way back into the breakfast room and sat with her head in her hands, her impeccable posture momentarily forgotten in the face of her son’s disobedience.

She needed to think about what she should do next, how she could stop Draco from making such a grievous mistake. While she was furious with him, she couldn’t let him mess up his life in this way, regardless of what he had said. It was her responsibility as his mother to protect him from this girl who had twisted his mind so he couldn’t see straight. She had to hand it to Miss Granger. She was rather innocuous-looking, but clearly was far more manipulative than Narcissa realized.

She took several deep breaths, occluding away the unpleasantness from the interaction with her son; she didn’t need to call on those memories right now. It wasn’t Draco’s fault. What she needed to remember was that she had raised the perfect pureblood prince, and while he may have gone astray, she would help set him to rights and remind him of what he had been born for and raised for. Her peace returned, she sat tall once again, as she began planning her next step.

Lucius had already picked up his paper and resumed his morning reading, seemingly unphased by the argument that had just unfolded around him, and the ruckus that he had undoubtedly heard.

“That went well.”

She looked at her husband incredulously, and for a moment Narcissa wondered what it might be like in Azkaban or whether she might be able to convince the Wizengamot that his murder had been justified.


	22. Dover

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alphabet thanks to Kifiyathewriter and Fandomfairytales.

Draco stopped to collect himself after stepping out of the Floo. He took a deep breath and ran a hand through his hair, unsure who he might run into while walking through the manor at this point. He hadn’t harbored any illusion that the conversation with his parents was going to go well, but he certainly wasn’t used to his mother raising her voice, ever.

In any event, it was done, and the cards would now fall where they may.

But what about his grandmother…

His father’s words lingered with him. She was one of the few people to show him love when he was growing up, who seemed interested in knowing who he was as a person, rather than who he was destined to be.

He wouldn’t call her soft by any stretch of the imagination, but the woman always had had a bit of a soft spot for him when he was a little boy, and even as he grew older, she remained, if not a source of encouragement, then at least not the same fount of criticism, like that which spewed from his mother’s mouth when he fell short of her expectations.

He didn’t want to disappoint his grandmother, but he had been truthful with his parents. He was willing to be disowned, if that’s what being with Hermione meant. He had enough in his own vaults to live a comfortable life, nor was he afraid of working. He couldn’t care less about being “Lord Malfoy,” as if anyone who knew him would see that as an enticement. That’s not to say that he was wholly comfortable turning his back on his family’s traditions. As the Malfoy heir, he knew there were duties he couldn’t escape, but somehow that had to be tempered with what he wanted for his own life, didn’t it?

After Hermione accepted his proposal, he would sit down and talk to Grand-Mère and explain how important this was to him. He would show her how he could do what needed to be done and still maintain his integrity and keep Hermione close.

Draco bounded up the stairs, anxious to leave the manor behind; he had more pressing things to do. He sighed in relief as he spotted Hermione sitting in her room with a book in her hands. She looked up at his entrance, her face carefully neutral. He knew she was most likely still upset with him, with everything, but she had stayed. Her bag sat packed at the end of the bed, so he wasted no time in gathering his own things before the two of them were ready to go.

There was a stop Draco wanted to make before heading to Grand-Mère’s château. They needed to talk; there were things he wanted to explain to Hermione before presenting the ring he was carrying, so she would better understand how he saw himself and why things had happen the way they had. After last night, he knew he owed her that, and he knew where he wanted to have that conversation.

It was risky to Apparate without firmly knowing who or what might be on the other side, but he took the chance. It was a place he had been many times before — a popular spot for him to go when he wanted to get away and think; although he hadn’t been there in several years.

It was more a matter of whether their landing spot was unchanged and if they might be seen, rather than a concern about getting splinched; but he was pretty confident that their arrival would go unnoticed. There were enough out of the way hidey-holes in the Western Heights.

They landed in a small concrete bunker; it was dusty and showed signs of having been used for merriment since his last visit, but it was vacant. Hermione looked around with some surprise. She stepped up to peer out the short rectangular opening and her breath caught, taking in the water and the white cliffs in the distance. When she was ready, Draco held out a hand to help her up the small set of stairs.

“Where are we?” Hermione wondered, as they made their way through the maze of fortifications. They only passed a handful of people before finding their way to the entrance and continued on the path towards the town below.

“Where do you think we are?”

“I can’t imagine that there aren’t that many places with iconic white cliffs in easy Apparition distance.” She answered, cheekily.

He grinned, pulling her closer. “Can’t get anything past you.”

“I guess the better question then is why we’re here.”

“We’re headed to France.” He pointed across the Channel. “This is a convenient stop on the way; and it’s a place that’s important to me, so I wanted to show you. But first, we need provisions.”

Draco led her into town and ducked into the Marks and Spencers. It was so normal, the two of them in a grocery store, like they had done in New York more times than he could count, arguing over the wine, debating whether they were going to cook or get take out, or Hermione complaining that he couldn’t possibly need that many cookies. But, they weren’t New York where now it seemed that they had been wrapped in a cocoon of illusion. Instead, they were here in England they day after everything had gone to pot. He was half-surprised, but relieved she was talking to him after last night’s fiasco, but that’s the person who she was — loyal, perhaps to a fault.

However, he now knew how everything had taken a tremendous toll on her, which was one of the reasons he had wanted to get away from all of the madness. He needed to make this right today, by explaining how and why he was not the person most of the people here thought he was and more importantly, by making sure she knew how very important she was to him.

Once they had purchased enough snacks to carry them through the afternoon, they continued walking. Draco was thankful that the skies were clear and wind was not so bad, as they made their way towards the famed cliffs. They walked along mostly in silence, both lost in their own thoughts and decompressing from the last several days.

He chose an area of grass and spread a blanket for them to sit on. For a few minutes, they sat quietly watching the water and the seabirds in the distance. He knew she would wait and let him find his words, she always did, when he had something to say. She never filled the space between them for no reason. It was one of the many things he loved about her.

What he wanted to share with her was hard. He wasn’t proud of all of the parts of himself, which is why he had eventually let some them go; but to share all of this with her, to reopen the boxes that he had firmly closed and put away, would take a fair bit of courage.

He raised his hand and pointed across the water. You could just make out the French coast.

“From here, you can just make out the other side. Calais. Dunkirk.” He pointed to each in turn, knowing she would have heard the names, would know the significance.

“I didn’t know wizards knew much about World War II.”

“No, I can’t say I learned much about it in school, but as I got older, it was one of the things I learned on my own. Wizarding-kind wasn’t completely spared from the devastation, and I understand there were even some wizards who fought in the war, but the way I look at it, it was a muggle war where they killed each other based on what? One’s nationality? One’s religion? How one looked?”

Draco continued, “But muggles don’t have the lock on violence or war. Even in the wizarding world, we’ve had our issues, as I’m sure you know.”

Hermione chimed in, “Of course. There have been Goblin wars and whatnot, and that’s not to mention, rogue wizards that pop up from time to time, like Grindelwald, probably the most dangerous dark wizard. He caused havoc in the States, too, you know. In fact, some would say that he was as successful as he was, precisely because so much of the focus of the magical and muggle worlds were focused on the world war.”

Draco nodded, knowing her knowledge of magical history was as extensive as his, if not more so, but there were some stories that were still more rumour than fact, or in the case of this one, had been suppressed to the point where few people knew how close Britain had been to falling into the clutches of a madman, not once but twice, and that his family had been part of those willing to serve it up on a silver platter. How could he possibly explain that to her? That his parents had been… He shuddered and took a deep breath.

“Grindelwald, sure. But after him, in Britain, we had someone else try and take the mantle of darkest wizard of all time. Grindelwald’s ideas of domination didn’t come from nowhere and they didn’t exactly go away. No, they just sat under the surface, waiting to be picked up, and eventually someone did.”

“Before I was born, another wizard came along and began feeding into the lies that many people had told themselves — about who belonged in our world and who didn’t, who deserved magic and who didn’t-” Draco sighed. “-Fortunately he was defeated, but not before those ideas were reinforced. They weren’t new, you see, the old pureblood families have always held themselves to be a bit above everyone else, as you may have noticed.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow that said she most definitely had noticed, but said nothing, letting him continue to get out what he needed to say.

“I don’t know all the details of what happened the first time, but my family, my parents, they were involved. My mother’s family has always held very strongly to pureblood supremacist ideals. And the Malfoys? We go whichever way the wind blows, always trying to ensure we land on our feet.”

He frowned. It was not a legacy he was proud of.

“That wizard — Lord Voldemort, he called himself —was defeated while I was still a baby, and things returned to normal, for a time, although the ideas were still there. They just weren’t talked about so openly, but that didn’t mean that they didn’t still have support. And eventually it all started up again and got pretty tense for a while when I was at Hogwarts.”

He paused.

“Ginny never talked about any of this?”

Hermione shook her head. This was news to her.

“Well, that’s not my story to tell, but I understand why she ended up in the States. It certainly wasn’t the best time to be here in England.”

He took a deep breath, knowing there was much he was leaving unsaid and that she would have questions, but he hadn’t brought her here to talk about Ginny’s brush with dark magic. He had come out here because his own experience with the short-lived resurgence of pureblood supremacy was what had led him here.

“In any event, before I finished at Hogwarts, I was already questioning the crap I had been fed while I was raised. None of it made any sense, particularly given the figurehead that had driven the most recent push for pureblood supremacy was himself a half-blood.”

He had power, sure, but his background didn’t match his ideals.

Hermione looked puzzled, and he agreed. He had been just as curious to learn that particular fact, and that was when he realized that it was all smoke and mirrors, that the lessons his parents had pushed were propaganda at best, designed to keep their own position in society secure, and not much else.

Hermione spoke up.

“How did you end up so different?”

“To be honest, it had a lot to do with Theo.”

“What?”

“You already know Theo and I are close. One of the reasons for that is that Theo’s dad was a right arse; and he never seemed to care about being a father.Given we were both only children, and our mothers were cousins, it was a given that we would be thrown together. My aunt, his mother, was lovely, but she died when we were small, which meant that Theo and I ended up spending a lot of time together.”

“In any event, while I wasn’t smart enough to not lap up the drivel my parents fed me, Theo was more of a contrarian. I was perfectly content to go with the flow, every bit the pampered prince I was raised to be.”

It was hard to admit that, but necessary. He wanted Hermione to understand, really understand, how and why his views had changed.

“Theo, however, questioned all of it. Of course, his servings of pureblood supremacy lessons were often accompanied by his father’s own skewed views of parenting. Theo couldn’t make sense of why his own father seemed to be capable of treating him like the very muggle-borns he was told to despise.”

Draco scowled, thinking back. One shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but damn if Thoros Nott hadn’t been a sadistic fucker. Hermione must have seen the dislike on his face. She put her hand over his, which helped to settle his mind and refocus him.

“Theo kept asking me questions that didn’t have easy answers — about how different anyone’s blood could really be, about why there were squibs in muggle families; and then, one day, he dared Blaise and I to venture into muggle London and see for ourselves what it was really like. You have to realize while I grew up in the heart of London, I didn’t really know the city. We didn’t interact with the muggle world. We were told it was unclean and muggles were dangerous. We, like most wizards, traveled exclusively through magical means — Floo or Portkey or Apparition, anything to avoid interacting with the muggle world around us. It’s different in the States where everything is much more mixed in. It’s hard to avoid knowing something about the muggle world over there, given you often have to move through it.”

“But how did Theo know?”

“I have my suspicions. The guy you met yesterday, Harry Potter?”

Hermione nodded.

“He told me he was a friend of Theo’s when we met.”

“While this current iteration between them may be recent, it’s not the first time.”

“Oh.” Hermione’s eyes brightened with recognition.

“Back when we were in school… Theo never said anything, but in some ways, he’s always been an open book. Potter’s a half-blood, so my guess is he was far more familiar with the muggle world. Maybe that’s all the prompting Theo needed to discard the lessons his father tried to pummel into him. At some point during our Sixth Year, the three of us, Theo, Blaise and I, were mucking about at my house, I’m sure I had said something stupid, and he called me an idiot; he asked how I could so readily believe the crap I was spouting when I had the means to know the truth for myself so easily.”

“Wait — you went out into muggle London on a dare?”

Draco looked sheepish.

“Umm… I wish I could say it was some grand and noble gesture, but yeah, Theo said the tail of my broom was short a few twigs if I couldn’t see past the rubbish my parents were feeding me, and well, you know how boys act when they have their honour called into question.”

“So what happened next?”

“We snuck out. You should have seen us, three sixteen year old boys tiptoeing down the streets, frightened of their own shadows. You have no idea how scary the world can be when you don’t know what’s in it.”

“Uh, yeah I do.”

Hermione gave him a look that made him pause. Of course she would know what that felt like, having been suddenly thrust into the world of magic after having grown up not knowing anything about it.

“True-” he acknowledged, “-and, to make it even more challenging, since we weren’t yet of age, we couldn’t use magic without getting in trouble with the ministry or getting found out by our parents, which would have been far worse.”

Hermione laughed.

“I can only imagine the three of you walking down the street, jumping at the sound of a car alarm or a loud television.”

“That’s not too far from the truth,” he admitted. “You have to understand, we were raised learning that muggles would hurt us, if they knew what we were, and that was why wizarding-kind had to organize to protect ourselves and our world. But, what we found was no one paid us any attention — and there was a whole world out there that was so much larger than our own. After we got over our initial fear, we realized that we were really no different, other than the fact that we happen to have magic; and in some ways, muggle inventiveness has more than made up for that, don’t you think?”

It was a rhetorical question, of course. Hermione had been raised in the muggle world, so none of it was a surprise for her. In fact, she easily slipped between the two worlds, using magic for some things and doing others the muggle way. Meanwhile, Draco needed to think about it far too often, as he moved between them. Sure, he was fine with electric lights, had learned how to work the tele, and carried a cell phone. He had grown accustomed to automobiles and could move through the muggle world, as needed, but it didn’t feel the same. Sometimes he still had to stop from reflexively reaching for his wand. It was almost like being in a country where you knew how to speak the language, but you weren’t a native speaker. Most of the time, you were fine, but every now and then, you realized how different things were.

“I started reading anything I could get my hands on, and learning as much as I could. The library at school didn’t have a lot, but it had some. That’s where I learned more about the great world wars — in a history book. The circumstances of World War II struck a chord with me — it all seemed so similar, people blindly following along with a particular narrative that ‘othered’ another group, claiming that they, or their ideas, were superior over another.”

He shook his head rapidly.

“It hit too close to home. I saw what we had been advocating on some level — what my family had supported. I couldn’t buy into any longer; I just couldn’t. By the time I left Hogwarts, I made a choice — that I was going to leave that all behind and live my life and that’s what I’ve done. There’s so much more out here to see and do and learn, now that I’m out from under my parent’s watchful eyes.”

Draco waved his arm around the landscape.

“The first time, I came out here on a lark, took the train out and everything. I walked around, trying to learn as much as I could. There are centuries of British history around us, stories of conquest and war, protection and the indomitable spirit of muggle ingenuity. It’s all here, if you know where to look. I came back with Blaise and Theo. They weren’t as enthralled as I was, but I get it. Neither of them have the same love of history — or ties to this place.”

“My ancestors landed on these shores with William the Conqueror. And the Malfoy family has been a part of this land ever since. I’m well aware of the darker times in our shared histories; I know there havebeen witch hunts and persecutions in the past. I know why we need the Statute of Secrecy, and support it, but to condemn the majority of society for not having magic? Or to view them as being lesser? It makes no sense. It's so short-sighted.”

He sighed.

“So the things that you have experienced, that you were made to endure? It all makes me mad. It’s idiocy, and none of it should have happened, but clearly those viewpoints persist. Am I disappointed that so little seems to have changed? Yes, but _I_ have changed. I’m not the same boy who grew up fearful of muggles or believing muggle-borns had no right to be in the magical world or had stolen someone’s magic. I’m not willing to pretend that the world is as small as I was raised to believe, and I’m not willing to live my life as someone I have no interest in being.”

What more could he say?

Hermione scooted closer to him and put her head on his shoulder. He wrapped an arm around her and they sat in silence, looking out at the water and the land beyond. He slipped his other hand into his pocket, being careful to not jostle the portkey it held. He would need that soon, and then after that, the other, far more important item he planned to present to the woman he was holding.


	23. The Chateau

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My sincere thanks to my beta, Fandomfairytales for sticking with me through this, and additional kudos to kifiyathewriter and iforgottocall for the Alpha assistance on this chapter.

The portkey brought Draco and Hermione to the yard of a lovely château in the Loire valley; grape trellises filled the hills around them, laden with the feedstock for the coming vintage.

Draco kept his arm around her from traveling, hesitant to let her go just yet.

In a little while he would ask her the most important question he had ever asked anyone. He was sure the bulge in his pocket would betray his intentions before he ever had a chance, but Hermione seemed unaware.

“Oh, Draco. This is beautiful.” She pressed into his side as she took in the view, but a moment later, her brow furrowed.

“Is this another Malfoy family property?”

“Actually, no. This one belongs to Grand-Mère. Apparently, it passes down through the women in her family. This will never be mine.”

He took Hermione’s hand and began leading her up the path and towards the house.

“She used to bring me here when I was young. It’s a place I only have good memories of.” He sighed thoughtfully. “Come, let me show you the inside.”

A smartly dressed elf opened the door, but this time, there was no M emblazoned on the simple shift.

“Bonsoir, Monsieur Draco.”

Draco nodded as they stepped into the house. He led Hermione towards the drawing room, having sent ahead instructions to have refreshments laid out for them — something light before they got settled, hopefully made love and then they could enjoy dinner outside as the sun went down, where he would ask Hermione to do him the honor of becoming his wife.

He stopped short in the doorway, seeing his grandmother seated in the room and his mother standing nearby. Given the two women rarely appeared in the same place, it was shocking, but not surprising, he guessed, based on how he had left things with his mother that morning.

He felt Hermione stiffen beside him.

“What’s this?” he asked.

It wasn’t good manners, but gods be damned he wanted to know why they were here. He had said his peace to his mother, but clearly that wasn’t acceptable to her. He should have known better.

“Draco.” His mother’s tone was sharp.

“I’m sorry, Grand Mère.” He said, ignoring his mother completely. “I didn’t expect to see you here.”

The woman waved her hand nonchalantly. “Nor did I expect to be here, mon dragon, mais c’est la vie.”

It was an ambush. His heart sank, as he cycled through his emotions. He felt both pity and anger towards his mother for her inability to stop meddling in his life, and concern for his grandmother’s presence. He would have preferred to handle this differently, but even she would not change his mind.

“I’m not sure why you came all this way, but I can assure you, you didn’t need to.”

His mother was the one to answer. “I beg to differ, Draco. You can’t just drop that on me and expect me not to react. What are you thinking? You can’t marry this girl. She’s not even who she says she is!”

He heard Hermione inhale sharply. So much for his proposal being a surprise; yet another thing his mother ruined for him.

Hermione spoke up. “‘ _This girl_ ’ is standing right here. I can’t say I know what you are talking about, but I can assure you Draco has neither asked me, nor have I said yes… Not that that is _any_ of your business.”

His mother scoffed, raising her voice with every phrase.

“None of my business? It absolutely is my business. My son’s future — the future of this family is most certainly my business. I have no intention of letting my son throw away centuries of pureblood lineage just because he can’t keep his sodding cock in his pants.”

Draco had never heard his mother lose her composure like this. He didn’t know she knew such language, let alone know how to use it.

Hermione looked up at him.

“Perhaps I should step outside.”

“Oh no you don’t!” Narcissa continued. “This is all because of you — isn’t it? And isn’t it all so very convenient, Miss Granger. This is what you want, isn’t it? To drive a wedge between my son and his family, when you yourself have your own secrets.”

Hermione furrowed her brow.

“What are you talking about?”

Draco’s grandmother looked impatient.

“Yes, Narcissa. Please enlighten us all. I tire of being here and would like to get home before dinner. What exactly is it the young woman has done?”

Draco’s anger flared, his emotions rising to match his mother’s. He’d be damned if she would start spouting blood purity nonsense.

“Mother, don’t do this. You don’t know anything about Hermione. You haven’t bothered to get to know her. There’s no way she can drive a wedge between us when there’s already a gulf, one that you yourself created!”

His mother’s tirade continued unabated, continuing to rail at Hermione about the imagined slight.

“Don’t you? You may think you’re fooling everyone else about your blood status — and to be honest, I haven’t quite worked out why you would lie about it, but the fact is you have. You’ve represented to everyone that you’re a muggle-born, but the necklace you wore at the wedding? The Collier d’Epines? It’s a very particular piece and if you were _actually_ a muggle-born, we wouldn’t even be having this conversation.”

Draco’s mouth dropped open. His mother was implying that the necklace Hermione had been given to wear was cursed. The thought of Hermione having been subjected to something like that was unthinkable, let alone had she succumb to it.

His family was so fucked up.

He ran his hands through his hair. Was there no part of his home life that wasn’t something to be ashamed of or wary of?

“So tell me Miss Granger, why the subterfuge? Why lie about your heritage? Of course, it makes no difference to your unsuitability, but at least my son now knows your true colors.”

Narcissa narrowed her eyes, as she waited for an answer.

Hermione stammered.

“I- I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She started to sway where she stood.

Draco turned his full attention to his girlfriend, worried she might pass out.

“Oh? She wore the Collier? Now that makes things interesting.” He heard his grandmother chuckle.

Hermione started to back out of the room, but her legs were still shaky.

“I- I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she repeated.

“Your ignorance is quite convenient, isn’t it? Just like you didn’t know who my son was. Or our family. Or our wealth. There’s no need to pretend, Miss Granger, the truth is out.”

And then, Hermione did something that surprised him, she found enough strength to turn and flee; Draco watched helplessly as she twisted as soon as she reached the doorstep, Disapparating to take her anywhere away from the madness that was his life.

“Good riddance,” his mother spat.

He pivoted to face his mother, his voice cold.

“You don’t get it, Mother; I’ve already told you that none of this means anything to me. If you have ruined my chance for happiness with Hermione, I will never forgive you!”

His mother only raised an eyebrow, her collected exterior had returned.

“On the contrary, son. I think it’s you who doesn’t get it. It’s quaint that you think you get a say in any of this. You’ve had your playtime. It’s now time for you to step up and be a Malfoy.”

He shook his head sadly, as he turned his back on his mother and grandmother. He needed to find Hermione. He needed to make this right.

“If this is what it means to be a Malfoy, I want no part of it.”

o0o

Narcissa shrieked in outrage that her son would walk away again; after all she had done for him. 

Anne Malfoy had watched the scene unfold with some amusement and much sadness. Family was so important, but it wasn’t the only thing that was, and so often that seemed to be forgotten in favor of things that were far more illusory. She watched as Narcissa held her breath and pulled the layers of her unaffected persona back over her. She knew her daughter-in-law would be bothered by having shown such a loss of control in front of her.

“Narcissa, dear. Come, sit, have some tea.”

She didn’t necessarily care for Lucius’s wife, but she could spare her this moment, particularly when what she was about to tell the woman would bring her world down around her.

“I-“

“It wasn’t a question,” she said firmly. “I know we don’t always see eye to eye, but we need to have a talk, and I need you to hear what I am about to say.”

Narcissa looked wary, but she sat and took the proffered cup of tea.

“I know you know the Malfoy family so very well, but what do you know about my family?”

Narcissa looked bored as she recalled the lessons she’d had to take when she and Lucius had been courting, trying so hard to present herself as the perfect pureblood daughter-in-law.

“You, of course, are a Selwyn. Your mother went to Beauxbatôns, met your father, Cosgrove Selwyn and came to England when they were married.”

The older woman nodded. “And her mother?”

“She was a Dumont, from a family of jewelers. Why is any of this relevant? I just stopped your grandson from throwing his life away.”

Lady Malfoy fixed her daughter-in-law with a piercing look and took a deep breath, ignoring the younger woman's impertinence.

“Because not everything is always what it seems, sometimes even the things we hold most dear.”

She rose, and motioned for Narcissa to follow.

“Come; I’d like to show you something.”

The women walked through the house in silence. She knew Narcissa must be wondering what was going on; at least she hadn’t left yet. Her daughter-in-law had never been to the château before, always busy with something or another when she issued an invitation, back in the early years, before everything was so strained. No matter — she and Draco had still come and spent time there on many occasions; she had been anxious to share her heritage with at least one of her grandchildren.

She was well aware that the fact that neither of her children had had a daughter meant that some of her family’s traditions may end with her. She had known that might be the case when she married into a family that typically only gave birth to one male child. And while she had bucked that trend, getting pregnant a second time and giving her husband a rare Malfoy daughter, Cornelia never had had an interest in anything other than that which was properly British — her father’s influence for sure. But, Draco, who would be the heir, had listened and learned the lessons she had shared with him. He knew some — although not all — of the stories that had been passed down from her mother and her mother’s mother before her, stories that one couldn’t learn from a portrait in Malfoy Manor.

And now? Now that the girl was revealed to be a half-blood? It was unexpected, to say the least.

Anne would admit that she had doted on Draco when he was a boy. The poor child was starved for attention, and she had decided to do her best to give it to him. She hadn’t been raised under the idiocies of British pureblood society, and while she expected her children to behave properly and befitting their station, she could take a few liberties with the next generation. Once Abraxas had died, there was little standing in her way.

She stopped before a portrait of a young woman. The style of dress was different than one would find in the portraits in Wiltshire, but the nobility was clear. She looked to be in her early twenties, dressed in deep blue robes, embroidered with pearls, and on her head, she wore a small crown. The portrait smiled fondly at the two women, but didn’t say anything.

She turned to her daughter-in-law, who had been rather quiet, all things considered.

“Do you know who this is?”

Narcissa shook her head.

The older woman smiled at the portrait and said something quietly in French before turning back to Narcissa.

“Her name is Appoline du Bourbon and she is my grandmother.”

“She’s beautiful, but I don’t see-”

She straightened her back and continued as if Narcissa hadn’t spoken. “She was the youngest child of Louis Philippe I.”

Narcissa scoffed,“The troubled French king?”

“Oh, so you do know some history from outside the British Isles!”

“I didn’t realise there was magic that high in the French monarchy.”

The old woman shook her head slowly.

“That’s because there wasn’t.”

She kissed her fingertips and pressed them to portrait and the portrait touched its fingers to hers, in an act of reciprocal affection.

Narcissa’s eyes widened in shock.

She led her back to the main room where they could sit, so she could explain. Her daughter-in-law was now quite pale. She refreshed her tea, hoping that would ease some of the discomfort from the things she was about to say.

“You have to understand, things were quite chaotic in France at that time, as the country struggled to decide what it wanted to be. Appoline was born close to the end of her father’s life. As with her older sisters, she was given the title, Princess of Orléans. After his death, she was brought here to be raised, safe from those who might do her harm."

“Not that it’s relevant for our story," she continued, "but her siblings and their descendants went on to become monarchs in many places — there are House of Bourbon descendants to this day.”

“But not her.”

“Oh, no. You see, Narcissa, Appoline was different from her siblings, because as she grew older, strange things began to happen around her. Until one day, a woman came and explained that she was different — that she was special."

“And so, Appoline, my grandmother, was introduced to the world of magic.”

Narcissa was hardly breathing, the weight of her words sinking in.

“But how-“

“Come now, Narcissa, surely even you can see that French pureblood families would be far more interested in her royal heritage than the fact that she was born to a family without magic. After all, the blue bloods were where purebloods got the idea in the first place, wasn’t it?

“And so when she married into the Dumonts, one of the most respectable of French wizarding families — there were no questions about her peerage, she was, after all, an actual princess.

“Her daughter, my mother, Aurélie, was raised in a manner befitting such a noble-born daughter. And the Selwyns raised no questions about _her_ heritage — why would they? She was a Dumont and had been schooled at Beauxbatôns. She represented the very best of French wizarding society.

“Which of course led to me, and here I am, Matriarch of the Malfoy Family and all that you hold dear.”

She skipped over the obvious, that the Malfoys were obviously far from the bastion of purity that Narcissa had been led to believe.

“I don’t understand. How-“

“Please, dear. You know as well as I that the Malfoys have always been more interested in power than purity. It’s your family — the Blacks — that have always been the rabid ones.”

“But the Sacred Twenty-Eight-”

“-Is an illusion, Narcissa. I suspect there are several families whose bloodlines aren’t quite so unimpeachable. After all, the Statute of Secrecy hasn’t been around all that long. This isn’t even the first time that someone with less than ‘ideal’ blood has slipped into the Malfoys, although you have to know which portrait to talk to to hear those stories. No, being a member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight is far more about concentrating the power and status in our world. Blood purity is only a convenient excuse to ensure we continue to hold it.”

She did her best to keep the self-satisfied smirk off her face. It wouldn’t do to push the younger woman over the edge, given she had just unravelled some of the views she held most dear.

They sat in silence for several minutes and she could see the gears turning in Narcissa’s head as she worked through the information.

“Does Lucius know this? Cornelia? Did Abraxas?”

She shook her head. “They’ve had no reason to know and no reason to question.”

Narcissa frowned. “So why tell me now?”

“As much as we don’t see eye to eye, Narcissa, I believe I can count on your utmost discretion with this information. I’m an old woman; I’ve lived my life. There’s very little that can hurt me now; the person who has everything to lose over it, _is you_.”

With the realization dawning in the younger woman’s eyes, she stood; it was time for her to return to the manor. She still had guests, and while the elves were more than capable of managing on their own, she preferred to make sure that everything was arranged just so. It wasn’t that often that her children and their children came to visit.

“I’m sure you may need some time. Stay as long as you like; call the elves if you need anything.”

She could afford to be gracious to the woman whose entire world had just been turned upside down.

Narcissa called out to her as she moved towards the Floo.

“But what of Draco? Surely you don’t approve of this match; even if she’s a half-blood, she’s American. We still don’t know who her father is — she’s not even one of us. The girl is fundamentally unsuitable and a liar to boot.”

Lady Malfoy stopped and turned back to her daughter-in-law, Floo powder in hand. Her eyes flashed.

If Narcissa had stopped to think, she’d realise that her own mother had been a half-blood. There was so much she could say. She wanted to make clear that Narcissa had not been her first pick in daughters-in-law either, that one didn’t always get what one wanted, did they? She didn’t say that, though; knowing it would have destroyed the delicate truce that had developed between the women during this conversation.

“Is she, though? I understand she’s a very powerful witch. From the time I’ve spent with her, she seems unexposed, but also intelligent and thoughtful-” She chuckled. “-I can’t seem to get her out of my library; she’s spent more time there than anyone in the family has in years. And, as odd as it may seem, I don’t think she knows who her father is. You seemed to give the poor girl quite a shock.”

She took a breath, hoping her daughter-in-law would think carefully about her next steps.

“Let me be honest; times are changing, Narcissa. The family barely made it through Lucius’s missteps in all that went on not so long ago. It was a failed play for power, and we’re lucky to still be on top. So many of the families who have clung to the old ways are barely hanging on in this new world, including the Malfoys and the Blacks; I wonder, if we continue to stay the current course, how long we’ll be able to stay that way.

“But most importantly, the girl seems to make your son happy. Perhaps _that_ ought to count for something.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...runs and hides...
> 
> AN: Collier d’Epines loosely translates to Necklace of Thorns - a lovely piece, but replete with double-entendres about pureblood betrothal and marriage. 


	24. Hermione

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're calling this the start of Part 4, even though the book only has three parts. I think you'll see why. Not too much longer now. (sigh...)
> 
> Continued thanks to the alphabet - Fandomfairytales and Kifiyathewriter.

Hermione had Apparated to the first place she could think of, landing in the middle of the hospital in Paris where Selina had brought her. It seemed like so long ago that she was last here, when it had only been a week. She scooted to the side after landing, anxious to not be in the way, but needed to catch her breath.

A Medi-wizard rushed over to steady her. “Vous avez besoin d’aide?”

Hermione shook her head. “Is Selina Nott here?”

The man nodded and led her over to a chair. “Un moment.”

She struggled to catch her breath. Everything she knew about herself was trying to crash down around her.

Selina rushed over, her face concerned. “Hermione! What are you doing here? Is everything okay? Are you hurt?”

Hermione struggled to find the words.

“Oh, dear. You’ve splinched. Let’s get you to a room.”

That was news to her, but given how upset she had been, it wasn’t surprising. She let herself be dragged along. She could tell they were saying things, but she didn’t tell what and she couldn’t respond. She felt as if she were underwater, everything slightly distorted.

She vaguely registered the heightened pitch of Selina’s voice. “She’s going into shock.”

And then everything went black.

She was alone when she woke up, her head still fuzzy, but as it cleared, someone poked their head in the room and saw she was awake. Selina arrived not long after that, dressed in her healer-in-training robes.

“While I’m always happy to see you, Hermione, I’d rather you not be so intimately acquainted with the inside of the hospital.”

It was a joke, but her face was serious, as she ran a diagnostic with her wand.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

Hermione shook her head.

Selina nodded. “Okay. Who do you want me to contact? Draco?”

Hermione didn’t hesitate in her response.

“Ginny Weasley.”

o0o

“Hermione, you have to eat something. If you don’t, Mum’s going to come up here and make you.”

It had been several days since Ginny had brought Hermione to the Burrow, and still she barely got out of bed, only leaving to use the loo when she couldn’t avoid it anymore.

All she could think was this was supposed to be a fun summer trip, but now her life was in shambles — and she wasn’t even sure who she was anymore.

She had turned her phone off; she didn’t want to talk to Draco, she didn’t want to talk to her mother. She just wanted to curl up in bed, alternating between sleeping and crying, both of which annoyed her because neither was in her nature. She was the girl who always bounced back, who never let anything bother her.

Yet here she was having found out she might be a half-blood and questioning everything she knew about herself.

Rationally, she knew it didn’t matter, but so far, that hadn’t flowed the tide.

She missed Draco. That was a major reason behind the tears, but she knew seeing him would do her no good. Things were complicated between them, perhaps too complicated. She couldn’t simply turn her feelings off, but she also couldn’t ignore how toxic this situation had become. She knew her own self-worth and was not willing to continue to subject herself to those who were unwilling or unable to see it. She had swallowed enough for the people in Draco’s life, not wanting to make waves, not wanting to offend. None of it had made a difference, given it was her very existence that was the problem.

At the same time, it didn’t sit right to let Narcissa Malfoy think she had got the best of her. Her accusations had been such a shock and Hermione had reacted without thinking, desperate to get away from the ambush so she could process and think about what had been said.

And now, three days on, she was no further along making sense of the mess her life had become. 

She also couldn’t stay in bed indefinitely. The Weasleys had been kind enough to take her in given she had nowhere else to go. She was sure she had already overstayed her welcome. Ginny wouldn’t even be here, were it not for Hermione, her friend who had come to England for a wedding and somehow ended up in an existential life crisis.

Hermione took a deep breath and thought about what lay ahead. She needed to start with a shower; after that, she would head downstairs and rejoin society. Then, at some point in the next few days, she would figure out buying a ticket to head back home.

It was time. There was no reason for her to be here any longer, everyone had made it abundantly clear, this wasn’t her world.

The shower felt better than she was expecting. She combed out her hair and braided it, to keep it from drying into more than she wanted to deal with. She threw on a pair of jeans and a comfortable t-shirt and headed downstairs, thankful to not have to dress up for once. She had no one to impress, no one who would wonder what Draco was doing with “that American.” That stung, but less than it did yesterday or the day before.

o0o

The heads in the sitting room looked up as she reached the bottom of the stairs. Mrs. Weasley put down her knitting and stood to pull Hermione into a big hug, while Ginny hastily put her phone down, a look of relief on her face.

“I’m sorry if I’ve worried you or been a burden.” She took a deep breath. “I’m not there yet, but it’s time for me to pull myself together.”

“Take all the time you need, dear. I can’t imagine the shock you’ve had. Our home is open to you for as long as you need it.”

She nodded in appreciation.

Ginny stood suddenly, as if she was no longer willing to wait for the story of what had happened three days ago, but would be sensitive to the fact that Mrs. Weasley didn’t need to hear.

“It’s a beautiful day outside. Wanna go for a walk?”

The two meandered through the grass, eventually settling near the pond. Ginny was right, it did feel good to be outside, and also a little odd, given she had been cooped up inside, bundled in blankets for the last several days.

Hermione lay back in the grass and closed her eyes. Ginny did the same; she didn’t seem to want to push her to talk, and for that, Hermione was thankful.

The two friends lay there in silence for a while, feeling the sun warm their skin. Eventually, Ginny spoke.

“He’s worried about you, you know. He’s been sending owls every day.“

Hermione sighed.

“How did he-“

“Oh come off it. He was out of his mind with worry when you disappeared, trying to figure out if you were okay, if you were safe. He sent _me_ an owl to see if I had heard from you, and let me know that something had happened and you might need my help. Of course, you were already here by that point, although I didn’t tell him that.”

Hermione turned her head to look at her friend.

“What did you tell him?”

“That I knew you were safe, and that it was probably best if you had some time.”

Hermione exhaled. While some women might harbor images of their knight in shining armor riding up to rescue them or showing up under the window singing serenades, Hermione was not that type. Seeing Draco right now, when everything was still a jumble in her head would just make it all harder.

“Thanks for that, Gin.”

“Of course, that hasn’t stopped him from sending you letters. They’re sitting inside when you’re ready for them.”

Hermione shook her head. She wasn’t sure she wanted to see them. Whatever Draco had to say was immaterial at this point. She knew she probably had even more messages on her phone. She would delete them when she turned it back on.

The truth had been made clear; they were from two totally different worlds, and as much as she loved Draco, she couldn’t see a path that kept them together at this point.

He might be willing to turn his back on his family, on his obligations for her, but she wasn’t about to let that happen. He might be fine now, but what about in the future? He would come to resent her for keeping him from this world, one he was so naturally a part of.

Over time, he, too, would grow tired of the comments and stares, and realise how much easier his life would be with one of the pureblood princesses who would have no trouble fitting into this world, because she was already a part of it. Hermione was sure whoever it was would be willing to patch whatever damage Draco’s relationship with her might have left behind, if there even was any damage, given the accusations that his mother had thrown at her. His mother had called into question her credibility, her character. That was something Hermione wouldn’t soon forget, although she was no closer to understanding what had been said.

Whatever it was that had been between them needed to be in the past now. She knew in her heart that Draco might be hurting, but he would get over it and get over her, but at least her head was now clear.

She could be the stronger of the two of them. 

“Are you going to tell me what you’re thinking about or do I have to guess?”

Ginny knew her so well, Hermione chuckled, although it held no humor.

“About what comes next. About moving on.”

“Hmm…” Ginny intoned, but didn’t say anything more specific, although Hermione knew Ginny had definite thoughts about her relationship with Draco.

After a minute she added, “It sounds like you’ve already made up your mind.”

I have,” Hermione confirmed. “I could use another day or two, but I think my time in England is coming to an end.”

“You know, you could always come hang out in London with me.” Ginny offered.

“I appreciate that, Gin. Another time, I will definitely take you up on that, seeing as though I didn’t get to see all that much this time; but I think I’m ready to head home.”

“By yourself.” It was a statement, rather than a question.

“Yes, by myself.”

“I’m not going to argue with you, but I don’t think you’re being fair to him… or to yourself.”

Hermione let out a long, slow breath, feeling some truth to Ginny’s words.

“It doesn’t matter what either of us think; he is who he is, and I am who I am, and we were only pretending that we fit together.”

“Those might sound like logical words to you, Hermione, but I don’t believe you buy that. Not for a minute. Not based on what you’ve told me. Not based on the stack of letters addressed to you sitting on the mantle. I love you, but you’re not seeing this clearly.”

“There’s nothing to see clearly. The truth is he has obligations based on who he is, whether he wants to acknowledge them or not. I don’t fit into those obligations. Besides, you weren’t there. You didn’t hear what his mother accused me of, the things she said to me.”

Ginny reached over and took Hermione’s hand in hers, using her thumb to soothe her, as the tone of Hermione’s voice changed. Her thoughts had drifted back to the night when it had all gone to hell, when Draco’s mother had said he wanted to marry her and then accused her about lying about who she was, while his grandmother sat and watched.

Ginny voice pulled Hermione back to the present.

“Then tell me. Narcissa Malfoy is a bitch, you won’t find anyone to argue that point, but it’s not like you to let someone get under your skin like that. And it certainly doesn’t make sense for you to be drinking the pureblood Kool-Aid.”

Ginny was right. It wasn’t like Hermione to let anyone get the better of her, but what she had said was so shocking — like Hermione didn’t know her own story, or had any reason to lie about it.

“She accused me of lying about who I am, about being muggle-born.”

Ginny let out a low whistle. Of all people, Ginny knew how Hermione had struggled to adjust to the magical world, having not grown up in it; how hard she had worked to master the concepts and spells that came like second nature to those who had grown up taking magic for granted. It was why Hermione’s magic was precise and exact, why she was good at Transfiguration, where a sloppy wand could spell unintended disaster.

“And, so? What was her reasoning for such an accusation?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Some necklace I wore to the wedding. Draco’s cousin’s wife gave it to me to wear. It worked perfectly with the dress, but I told her it would only cause trouble.”

“Some necklace?”

Ginny sat up, peering at Hermione with a curious look on her face.

“Yeah, something she had been given out of the Malfoy vault. I told her it wasn’t worth it. I shouldn’t have bothered.”

“Uh, Hermione, how much do you know about your father?”

Hermione gave her friend an odd look. That seemed like a rather strange question. In all the time they had known each other, Ginny had known her history, she didn’t have anything to hide.

Ginny seemed to sense her confusion.

“The reason I ask is that old pureblood families like the Malfoys are known for having jewelry and other items that would curse or hurt a muggle or muggle-born, if they were to touch them.”

Hermione gasped. “That’s barbaric.”

“Of course it is. No one in their right mind would make something like that now, but in an earlier time in our history, when relations between muggles and wizards weren’t so sorted out, it was a way to protect your loved ones. You can hire a curse-breaker to remove the curse, but a family like the Malfoys, I imagine they have a lot of jewelry in their vaults, and given their views, they may not have got around to hiring a curse-breaker, particularly given there would be no way one of their pieces would ever come into contact with a muggle or muggle-born.”

Hermione’s eyes widened, as she began to understand Narcissa’s accusation and the import of it.

Ginny watched Hermione’s face as realization dawned, probably thankful they had left their wands inside and hoped Hermione was not inclined to flee. She looked at her seriously.

“Hermione, I think you need to talk to your mum.”

o0o

Back upstairs in her hidey-hole, Hermione pressed the power button and waited for her phone to warm up, purposefully ignoring the message indicator light. She had told Ginny she wanted to be alone while she talked to her mother, but she had left the door open. She was done hiding or wallowing. Whatever her mother told her, she’d face it and keep moving forward; although that didn’t mean she wasn’t curious about what her mother might say.

What, if anything, did it mean? She had worn a necklace that should have cursed her. That was the obvious take away. But, what did it mean about who she was, about how she saw herself? At the end of the day, it didn’t really matter, Hermione was a grown and fully formed witch, and she was totally comfortable in both the muggle and magical worlds. She could only thank the circumstances of her upbringing for that, regardless of how hard it had been at times.

She took a deep breath and dialed her mother, hoping she would answer; it was rather early in the morning in California, but Hermione didn’t think she could wait.

“Hello? Hermione? Where have you been? I’ve been worried about you. Is everything okay?”

Hermione waited for the litany of her mother’s questions to die down. She had only called for one reason, and it wasn’t to chit chat or to assuage Helen Granger’s parental concerns.

“Mom, listen. I need you to tell me about my father.”

Her mother was quiet before responding.

“What? Why?”

“It’s important, Mom. I need to know.”

“Hermione, it was a one night stand a very long time ago, now. You know that.”

“I need the details, Mom. I need to know everything you remember about that night. About my father.”

Hermione only heard silence on the other end of the line.

She pressed, “Please, just tell me.”

“Why now?” Helen Granger finally asked.

Hermione didn’t want to get into all of this, she just wanted the explanation. She needed for her backstory to make sense again, the pieces of who she was had always told a particular tale, and now they didn’t.

“Mom, _please_. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. There’s no judgment on my part. You’ve always been all the parent I needed, but I’m asking you this — I need to know, _now_.”

She heard her mother give a heavy sigh.

“Alright. It was a long time ago, but I’ll tell you what I remember.”

Hermione exhaled in relief, hoping that some of what her mother had to say would make sense.

“Tell me everything. Where did you meet?”

“Well, as you know, I had just finished college. Some friends and I had gone out to celebrate. LA was quite into the disco scene back then. There was plenty of sex, drugs, if you wanted them, not that I was into that sort of thing. You name it-”

Hermione groaned.

“What? Do you want the story or not? You asked for details.”

“Mom…”

“Okay, okay. I was just trying to set the mood. So, my friends and I are at a club, we’ve been dancing. I headed to the bar and your father offered to buy me a drink.”

 _Your father_. It felt so odd to hear those words. Of course she knew she had one, but it was different to think of her mother being picked up at a club, let alone a disco.

“He was so very charming,” her mother continued. “We drank, we danced. When the club closed down, neither of us were ready to let the night end.”

“You closed the club?” Hermione was shocked to hear such details about her normally staid mother.

“Shockingly, I did have a life before you, Hermione Jean,” her mother scolded.

“What was he like?”

Her mother had never shared any of this with her before. Hermione had grown up knowing she was loved and wanted by her mother and her father had never been in the picture, but nothing more specific than that.

“Oh, he was quite a dish. Thick wavy black hair, eyes so dark you could get lost in them. He seemed so out of place in LA, with his proper manners and his British accent. I wish I could tell you more about him, hun, but the truth is, we didn’t do so much talking.”

“And what happened next?”

“Well, while you may be grown, there are _some_ things you don’t need to know about how you got here, dear. I took him home and the next morning, Reg was gone and nine months later, you arrived.”

“Wait… his name was Reg?”

“That’s what I remember.”

“Last name?”

“Hun, I never asked. It didn’t seem so important at the time.”

“But he was British?”

“I don’t know. He sounded like it.”

Hermione frowned. It wasn’t much information.

“That’s it? Is there anything else?

“No, I never heard from him again.” Her mother paused. “Oh, there was one other thing, but it’s such a small detail. It was the oddest thing.”

“Yes?” Hermione waited with bated breath, hoping for something more, anything.

“I remember he had a tattoo on his chest. It looked like stars. When I asked him about it, he said it was the constellation, Leo, although he didn’t particularly like lions.”

Hermione stilled, trying to make sense of this final detail and what it might mean.

She hurried off the phone, ignoring her mother’s requests to know why she had wanted to hear about a night so long ago.

“Sorry, mom. I have to go. Thanks. I’ll be in touch soon. In fact, I’ll be home soon, so maybe I’ll make that trip out to California, like you talked about.”

“Oh, it would be lovely to see you and Draco! Although, what about the rest of your trip?”

“You know, Mom, I find I’m ready to come home, and it’ll be just me this time. Draco is staying; he has some things to take care of here in England.”

After assurances that she would call back sooner rather than later, Hermione hung up.

There were no signs of magic or anything odd about the encounter that her mother had, but there were a number of strange coincidences. It couldn’t be that easy, she thought. What would be the odds that…

Hermione jumped up and raced down the stairs, trying to make sense of it.

She found Ginny and immediately spit out the primary thought she had in her head. She’d explain everything later, but this was paramount.

“Where’s an owl? I need to talk to Sirius Black.”


	25. Draco

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woo hoo! We're officially breaking the 100k barrier with this post (if my math is right).
> 
> Alphabet thanks on this chapter to Fandomfairytales, Kifiyathewriter and Frappubean.

The moment Hermione had twisted on the step, Draco’s heart had fallen. And now, four days later, he felt numb and alone.

He had stormed out of the house almost instantly, escaping from the lunacy created by his mother. He had stood outside the front door, his only thought in that moment was to find Hermione.

He wasn’t sure where she had gone, although there weren’t that many options. He didn’t think she had Apparated back to the Manor. While he didn’t put it past her to cover that distance if she set her mind to it, she had been rather upset and probably had had her fill of Malfoys.

He had spent several frantic hours of searching every place he could think of before ending up back in London. A sweep of the hotels near Blaise’s had come up empty, and Hermione still hadn’t responded to the texts and voicemail messages he had sent.

Hermione was clever and resourceful to a fault, but she had also been upset. Draco needed to find her, to make sure she was alright, to apologize to her; if not for his mother’s behaviour, then for words spoken with the intent to hurt which had truly found their mark and for once again subjecting her to vitriol that she didn’t deserve.

It seemed like he was always apologizing.

As dusk turned to dark, he was no closer to finding the woman he loved and he wasn’t sure where else to turn. He didn’t want to go back to the Manor, and he certainly had no plans to set foot in Holland Park anytime soon, if ever again. At least he had friends he could rely on; Blaise had insisted that he stay at his flat the moment Draco had called to explain.

“We’re not even there, plus there’s plenty of space. There’s no reason you can’t stay as long as you need, although for your own sake, you may want to be somewhere else when we get back… Since we’re newlyweds and all.” Blaise had joked. “Just don’t go through all my firewhiskey.”

He had thanked Blaise for his hospitality and taken him up on the offer, insisting that he and Daphne certainly did not need to cut their honeymoon short. He needed a place to regroup and figure out his next steps, that was all.

That had been four days ago. Four long, agonizing days of no contact with Hermione. The only solace he had was that he had received a cryptic response to a letter he’d sent to Ginny Weasley telling him that Hermione was okay. At least there was that. And none of the letters he had sent addressed to Hermione had been returned. He didn’t know if she had read them or thrown them in the fire, but she was out there somewhere, without him.

It wasn’t that the two of them hadn’t been apart before. During the school year, they generally only saw each other on weekends when Hermione didn’t have responsibility for the students at Ilvermorny, and he wasn’t tied up brewing potions, but he had got used to waking up next to his witch over the past several weeks, used to seeing her every day and sharing so much of the mundane with her.

Even when they weren’t together, there was always a short text to check in or a call where she’d share something funny that had happened that day or they talked through what he was working on in the lab. Draco felt incomplete, like a part of him was missing, and he didn’t like it one bit.

He understood the need to give her time, but was she hurt? Was she furious? Was there hope for them to work through this latest blow?

The Floo sprung to life and Theo stepped through. He dusted himself off, but immediately wrinkled his nose as he looked around.

“What the fuck, Draco? Have you been on the couch since I left you? Daphne would have your head, if she knew the flat was in this condition.”

Draco barely cared to muster a response. He flicked his wand and the half-eaten cartons of take away marched themselves to the rubbish bin and the empty bottles of Old Ogden’s righted themselves. If he hadn’t sent Blaise’s elf away, he would have taken care of it, but after an evening of hovering and repeated requests to serve him in some form or fashion, he had sent the poor creature packing and hadn’t seen him since.

Hermione would have had his head over that, he knew. But, he could fend for himself just fine and he didn’t want the company, particularly from small beings who insisted on trying to make him feel better than he did.

Theo took out his want and cast a freshening charm directly on him, then finally unwrinkled his nose.

“There, that’s better.”

“Sod off.”

Theo raised an eyebrow, unimpressed.

“So, your plan is to sit here and stew in your own filth? How exactly is that helping?”

Draco scowled. He wasn’t in the mood for this.

“Helping what? I’ve lost her.”

“I’m sure that’s not true.”

“No, I’m pretty sure it is. I haven’t heard from her since she Disapparated away. She hasn’t returned my calls or my letters. I- ”

“Then you need to go see her in person.”

“Yes, but she won’t see me. If she wanted to see me, she would have answered me. By owl. By phone. By patronus. She would have been in touch, somehow.”

“Draco, please. You’re a Malfoy. When have you taken no for an answer? If you want her, you have to figure it out.”

“You don’t understand, Theo. You weren’t there.”

“So, try me.”

He had no interest in rehashing what had happened in France, but he gave Theo a shortened version, not that any of it was a surprise to him. After all, it was Theo who had warned him from the beginning that bringing Hermione here was going to be an issue. Draco hadn’t listened, though. He had been sure that common sense would matter more than outdated traditions; that his parents would take the time to understand who he was and what was important to him.

How wrong he had been. If nothing else, his mother’s actions showed him that he, himself, didn’t matter at all in the face of her expectations. In the face of society.

Theo’s voice interrupted his reverie.

“Of course she’s hurt, but you didn’t do the hurting. Well, not that you didn’t cause any of it, because let’s face it, she’s only in this mess because of you…”

Draco groaned as Theo stated the obvious.

“But, Hermione’s issue isn’t with you — it’s with your family. It’s with the system. So, unless you’re willing to submit to a betrothal contract with Pansy or some other vacuous chit, I suggest you clean yourself up and go get your girl.”

“But, if she won’t-“

“Then I’ll help you pick up the pieces, but right now, you don’t even know what she’s thinking and instead you’re content to sit around stinking up Blaise’s flat and feeling sorry for yourself.“

Theo looked at him pointedly, making clear that Draco’s current plan of action couldn’t possibly bear fruit.

“I’m not sure where to start,” he admitted. “I think Ginny Weasley knows where she is, but I don’t even know where the Weasleys live.”

Draco sighed. He had thought about showing up there and confronting Ginny in person, pleading with her to tell him where Hermione was, if he needed. It would be very unlike a Malfoy, but he’d swallow every bit of his pride, if he could see Hermione and know she was all right.

“Well then, it’s a good thing I know someone who does.”

o0o

Draco stood in the yard as Theo and Harry spoke in low tones. It sounded like some kind of negotiation. Harry wasn’t thrilled to see Draco lounging at his gate, but he hadn’t hexed him yet. That was a good sign.

“Why does he look like a lost puppy, though?”

Draco heard Harry complain and immediately wanted to turn around and go back to his spot on Blaise’s couch.

“Because maybe he is. Have a heart, Harry. Can we at least step inside to continue this conversation? You know you’re going to give me what I want, so why don’t we just cut to the chase.”

Theo’s look was rather smug. Draco, however, wasn’t feeling so hopeful about Harry Potter being willing to help him, no matter how much Theo pleaded his case.

Harry shook his head and stepped aside, motioning the two men to enter his home. He produced a bottle of firewhiskey and three glasses and poured a round for each of them as Draco sat uncomfortably on the couch. He didn’t like asking for favors, particularly from people who he had a less than positive history with, but he didn’t have a lot of options. Hermione wasn’t responding to his entreaties, and unless he wanted to use more questionable magic, he wasn’t going to be able to track her down behind the Weasleys’ wards.

Harry grumbled and Draco realized that Theo’s gamble might just pay off.

“Ron’s going to have my head for this.”

“Are you sure about that?” Theo smirked. “Because I don’t think he’ll have any reason to know. Just take him to the general vicinity and point him in the right direction. You don’t have to hold his hand.”

“You couldn’t pay me to hold his hand.” Harry’s voice softened. “You owe me for this.”

“Hmm… I think we’re still working on your side of the ledger.”

Harry shook his head with a look of exasperation.

“Am I ever going to be done making that up to you?”

“Yes,” Theo nodded curtly, “-But today is not that day.”

o0o

The three landed near a country lane. Harry dropped Draco’s arm as soon as they appeared and gave Theo a look that made clear that Theo definitely would have to make up for this. Draco didn’t really care what happened between the two; that was between them.

To be honest, it wasn’t that Draco minded Potter at this point. He had grown past childhood grudges. He knew the man might still be wary of him, but for his part, he was glad to have moved beyond the prejudices of his youth. In a conciliatory gesture, he said thank you and held out his hand to Harry, in a repeat of their first meeting so many years ago. But this time, he had no expectations. He hadn’t been pushed by his parents to ‘get to know’ the Potter spawn.

If the man had helped him to find Hermione, the least he could do was extend his hand.

Potter looked down at Draco’s outstretched hand and then up at him, a question on his face. Draco didn’t miss the way Theo elbowed Potter in the side, but then he took his hand for a brief moment.

“Thanks. I really appreciate your help.”

Harry waved it off, pointing down the lane. “Keep heading in that direction. The Burrow is just over the next hill.”

The Burrow? Draco nodded his head and started walking.

“Good luck.” He heard one of them say as he turned his mind towards what awaited him. At least, it was a start. He felt more hopeful than he had in days.

He felt he was close before he could see the house. A wave of coolness washed over him as he reached the top of the hill. It was an intent line, ensuring that any visitors to the home did not mean any harm to those who were there. At least that allowed him to enter onto the property, as well as alert the Weasleys that they had a guest. For better or for worse, his arrival wouldn’t be a surprise.

“I was wondering when you might show up.”

Ginny Weasley had walked out to meet him, eyeing him warily. It had been years since they had been in the same place, but the flaming red hair was a dead giveaway. Historically, there was no love lost between Malfoys and Weasleys, but this was different. He was different.

While he didn’t particularly care for her brother, Ron, he didn’t really know Ginny. She had been sorted into Gryffindor the year after he started, but she had left Hogwarts after her first year. What he knew of her came from the paper — mainly that she was a talented quidditch player. However, that wasn’t important to him at all. What was important was that the woman meant something to Hermione, which meant that regardless of who she was, she meant something to him, too.

And she had seemed willing to help Hermione so far, even knowing that she was dating Draco.

“I wasn’t sure how I would be received, plus you said she needed time.”

Ginny nodded her head and continued staring at him.

“Thank you,” Draco said spontaneously.

That seemed to surprise her. She looked at him curiously. “For what?”

“For taking care of her. For helping her navigate things when I didn’t. For being a friend.”

“I didn’t do it for you.”

“Yet, you have my sincere appreciation, all the same.”

He wanted to ask for Hermione, wanted to know if she was there. He assumed she was, given Ginny had met him outside. What other reason would she have done so? But, he knew that today patience might be the better part of valor, given he was operating on incomplete information.

“Is she all right?”

Ginny tilted her head to the side before responding.

“All right might be too strong of a word, but she’s doing better.”

He nodded his head in response.

“All of this has done a number on her, but your timing is good. I’ll see if she’ll talk to you.”

Draco’s heart leapt. He hadn’t dared hope that he’d actually get to see her.

Ginny leaned in towards him and lowered her voice.

“Oh, and Malfoy?”

“Hmm?”

“Make sure to ask her about her mother.”

That seemed like an odd request, but he filed it away as Ginny headed into the house.

The door closed behind her and Draco stood waiting for his heart to start beating again.

After a few minutes, Hermione stepped outside with a small, sad smile on her face.

Just seeing her made the anxiety he had been carrying start to dissipate. He wanted to rush and embrace her, but held back, unsure what she might want from him in this moment.

“Hermione, love. I’ve been so worried about you since you Disapparated away. It’s good to see your face.”

Hermione took a deep breath.

“Draco.”

The two stood in the shade of the Burrow for a moment. He was aching to reach for her, to hold her, but she made no attempt to close the distance between them and his heart broke a little.

“How are you?”

She didn’t answer his question. She looked up at him finally, and in her eyes he saw a familiar determination, like when she put her mind to something and would insist on seeing it through. His stomach dropped.

“Can we walk?” she asked and he nodded in response.

As they headed away from the house, she finally said more than his name.

“You look like hell.”

“So I’ve heard. Haven’t exactly been sleeping well. I’ve been worried about you.”

She took another deep breath, but didn’t respond. She led him to a sunny patch of grass and sat.

“I’m sorry you were worried.”

He sat in front of her, trying to take her in.

He frowned, “You’ve got a bandage on your shoulder. Are you hurt?”

He reached his hand towards her until he saw her flinch, then he put his hand down.

“I splinched myself. A hazard of Apparating when you don’t know where you’re going and while you’re upset. Clearly not the brightest move on my part, but…”

It was Draco’s turn to wince.

“I’m sorry.”

Hermione sighed, “So am I; I’ll be fine in another day or two.”

“Have you-“

“So, I-“

They had started speaking at the same time, and both stopped. Draco was planning to ask whether she had read his letters, but he held back. There was much he wanted to say, but if she had something she was going to share, he wanted to hear it.

“I- I’ve decided it’s time for me to head back to the States.”

“Cancel our trip? Are you sure? I guess I can understand, given our visit to England has all gone tits up. When do you want to head back?”

“No, Draco, I’m sorry to not be clear. _I’m_ heading back.”

His face fell.

“What? Why?”

“It’s time for me to head home, and I think it’s best that we don’t see each other anymore.”

He knew his face was contorted. “What are you saying, Hermione?”

She took a deep breath and met his eyes at last.

“I’m saying that what we had has run its course; I’m letting you go.”

He was flummoxed. He knew what had happened in France had been a shock, but for her to break up with him completely? Just like that? It was one thing to have thought it; hearing her say it to him felt completely different, and he wasn't ready at all.

“But why? I love you and I know you love me. We don’t need to do this.”

Hermione gave a bitter chuckle.

“Sometimes love isn’t enough, Draco. I’ve always heard that phrase, but never really understood it. Now, I think I do.”

Draco shook his head.

“No, Hermione. I’m not okay with that. Not at all. There’s no reason for this. We’ll go back to New York. It’ll be just you and me again.”

Hermione shook her head sadly.

“There’s every reason, Draco. You and me, we come from different worlds. It just took coming here to make clear how very different they are.”

Draco rubbed his face with his hands in frustration, not with her, but with the situation they found themselves in.

“I didn’t ask for any of this. I don’t want any of this. I love you. I want to be with you. The rest of it doesn’t matter at all.”

“You say that now, but what about down the road? I’m not willing to stand between you and your family. And I’m certainly not willing to subject myself to any more of this.” She took a breath. “Besides, I need to figure out this whole thing with my father.”

He had opened his mouth to retort, but her words had stopped him.

“With your father?”

“Yes. I talked to my mother earlier and she told me the story of how I came to be.”

He remembered — perhaps this was the reason for Ginny’s cryptic statement.

The tension between them was forgotten for the moment, as another took its place. “What did she say?”

“She told me that she had had a one night stand with a guy with a British accent named Reg who had a tattoo of the constellation Leo on his chest.”

Hermione looked at him expectantly, as if that should mean something to him.

Draco was puzzled. The brightest star in the constellation Leo was Regulus. He had grown up knowing that, just as he had known the stories of the other stars and constellations in the sky. It was part of his heritage as a Black, his mother used to tell him, something to be proud of. He scowled, quickly banishing his mother from his thoughts, instead refocusing his attention on what Hermione had said.

Her father was a British man named Reg with a tattoo of a lion. But that meant…

Hermione spoke again, confirming he had put the pieces together correctly.

“Of course, that’d be one hell of a coincidence, but it’s more than I’ve ever known about him.”

“But that would mean…”

“ _I know_. I’ve sent a note asking to speak with Sirius. I’m hoping to do so before I leave. At least, that would be one mystery solved.”

Draco was astonished, trying to make sense of what she was intimating. His mind was reeling with all of it.

She dropped her voice.

“What your mother said? Was it true?”

“What?” His mother had said many things that he had been trying to dismiss or ignore in the face of the damage she had done.

“You planned to ask me to marry you?”

He nodded. How far from that they now seemed, and he knew better than to try and change her mind, at least not like this, but he could only answer her truthfully.

“You’re all I want, Hermione,” he said simply.

He reached his hand towards her and touched her cheek, reveling in the fact that she closed her eyes and leaned against his hand for a moment. Her feelings were still there; they hadn't changed. They had just been jumbled by everything else.

But then Hermione pulled away from him and the moment was over. She suddenly stood, her eyes filling with tears.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered before she ran towards the house.

Draco sat in the grass for a moment to collect himself. If he went after now, it would only serve to push her away. He took a deep breath. Hermione might think that they were done and he would respect her decision, if it truly came to that, but right now she wasn’t thinking clearly.

And, he needed more information than he had. As he walked back to the Apparition point, Draco pulled his mobile out of his pocket and dialed a number that would hopefully help him fill in some gaps.

“Hello, Helen? It’s Draco. I need you to tell me everything you told Hermione about her father.”

o0o

“ _Sirius_!”

Draco pounded on the front door of the London townhome again, sure that Sirius was home. He needed to find him. He needed his help.

Eventually, the front door opened to reveal a wizened old elf.

“Master Draco, how might Kreacher be of service?”

“Uh, hello. I’m looking for my uncle.” He hadn’t spared a thought for the Black family elf he remembered from years ago. He had always been rather unpleasant, much like his dead mistress had been, to hear others tell of Sirius’s mother, Walburga Black. Sirius himself had nothing good to say either about his mother or his elf.

“Lord Black is currently indisposed.” 

“Come now, Kreacher! Let our guest in.”

Draco exhaled, as he heard Sirius’s voice coming from the hallway. The door swung open to reveal him tightening the belt of his robe.

“A bit late to start the day, isn’t it?” Draco asked with a smirk.

“Who said anything about starting it? I was just finishing some _other business_ and hadn’t quite set myself to rights yet. One likes to take one’s time and enjoy the finer things when one gets older.”

The comment along with the clothing choice made clear that Draco had interrupted his uncle in the midst of an afternoon romp.

“My apologies for the intrusion. I’m in need of your help. Might you have a few minutes?”

“Of course. I’m surprised to see you by yourself, I had an owl from Hermione yesterday that I hadn’t had a chance to respond to yet. I planned to reply shortly.”

“Ah…well, we have much to discuss then.”

His uncle led him upstairs and into the library.

“Can I get you something? Tea and biscuits? Firewhisky?”

Draco found that he didn’t have an appetite, but decided that the firewhiskey might be in order, although he needed to keep his head clear for this.

“I won’t say no to a drink, if you’re having one.”

Sirius set about pouring two glasses and handed him one.

“What brings you by? From the sound of your knocking, it must be something important.”

“It is, although you may want to finish your drink and pour another first.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow, he was definitely intrigued.

“Say,” Draco began casually, “what ever happened to the Black Family tapestry? The one that used to hang-“ He looked around the room, pointing to a wall where the wallpaper was faded less than on the surrounding walls. “-over there?”

Draco had never seen the tapestry, but he had heard about it.

Sirius narrowed his eyes.

“What’s on your mind, Draco? I can’t think that you came by to ask about the decor.”

“But do you have it? Is it here?”

The tapestry showed all the members of the family. Seeing it would immediately make clear whether or not there was any significance to the story Helen Granger had shared with her daughter.

“I took it down when I moved in, shortly after my brother died. I was planning to burn it, but I think Kreacher spirited it away for safe keeping. It was never important to me; it was more of a reminder of things I don’t agree with, if you understand.”

“I do.” Draco nodded. His uncle had always had a complicated relationship with his family, with his heritage, not having bought into the propaganda his parents had tried to force upon him.

Sirius sighed, “I assume it’s still in the attic somewhere, unless the doxies got to it.”

Draco sat up straight; he was anxious to find it, doxies be damned.

His uncle, however, was wary in Draco’s sudden interest in Black family genealogy.

“Do you mind telling me what this is about?”

“If you would indulge me, it may be easier to show you than tell you. Either way, we’ll need the tapestry.”

o0o

The attic at Grimmauld Place was dusty and cramped. Clearly, Kreacher was not concerned about its presentability. Draco couldn’t help but think of the orderly upper floor rooms at both Holland Park and the manor, replete with unused antiques draped in pristine white cloths, crates that as a boy he had wondered if they held mysteries or treasures, and books, so many books, personal journals and lesser-known tomes that had long been forgotten about, but were still being carefully preserved. It was a far cry from the cluttered and chaotic scene that lay before him now.

Sirius used his wand to levitate boxes of old trinkets and books from one side of the space to the other until he spied something that looked more like a rolled-up rug rather than a priceless family heirloom.

“You can do the honours,” Sirius indicated.

And so, Draco found himself levitating the tapestry until he could grasp it in his arms to carry downstairs. He hoped it might be able to answer the question at hand, and in doing so, provide Hermione with some measure of peace.

Draco took the short walk as a chance to ask Sirius another question that had some bearing on his inquiry.

“I understand if you don’t want to talk about it, but what did happen to your brother? I’ve always wondered, and don’t know that I’ve ever heard the whole story.”

Sirius took a deep breath, and Draco wasn’t sure whether he had hit a nerve or if he would answer the question.

“There’s not much story to tell. You’ve heard about how things were before you were born. There were deep divisions in friendships, in families. Those who wanted to push for a new world order at the expense of others. As you know, by and large the Blacks were all in favor of that. But I wasn’t. I had already left home, disgusted with my parents. I pleaded with Regulus to come with me, to see things differently, but he didn’t. He wouldn’t. We didn’t talk after that, which remains one of my greatest regrets. I heard rumours that he had been drafted into the cause, which meant we would be fighting on opposite sides. But then he vanished, as so many others did, a victim of the very sycophant my parents sought to serve, and was declared dead shortly after that.”

Sirius stopped and sought his drink.

Draco had only heard parts of this. He nodded in acknowledgement, wondering if they might be about to find that Regulus’s disappearance might have been something entirely different. He was unwilling to tip his hand at this point; he could wait a moment longer.

Having downed the contents of his glass, Sirius used his wand to unroll the tapestry and began to levitate it towards the wall, looking less than enthused that it was going to reclaim its place in the house, even temporarily.

“I can’t imagine what you want with this. Almost all of them are dead, and most were rather unpleasant.”

The two men stood back and looked at the wall. So many ancestors in the Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, yet the current generation spanned only a few branches, evidence of how it was dying off.

Draco scanned the tapestry quickly. It only took a moment to spot several familiar faces among the branches, finding his mother and her sisters and their children; near them was Theo’s mother’s face and her son under him. Ophelia Black’s face was not as vibrant as her son’s, showing she was now beyond the veil. Scanning the other branches on different parts of the tree, Draco found what he was looking for, but stood silently as Sirius ran his eyes over the various parts of the family, taking in the faces of so many who were no longer living.

“Wait, what?”

Draco stilled, letting Sirius figure it out. Sirius walked closer to the tree, running his hand down a particular branch, his family’s. His parents, Orion and Walburga Black, second cousins, had had two children, Sirius and Regulus. And while Regulus’s face was grey, there was a branch that extended beyond it, and a familiar face was embroidered onto that branch.

“How can this be?” Sirius turned to look at him, his face full of confusion and wonder.

Draco sighed, “I can only tell you what I’ve been told.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An aside, for those who are interested: Can I tell you how long the identity of Hermione's father has been in question? It's been under debate for months and months. In the original, it was a big deal, but as I started this project and for quite a while, I was convinced that it wasn't. 
> 
> But then as the story posted, some of you started pondering, and one reader said they _really_ had to know, and well, as you can tell, it got very important. 
> 
> We are oh so very close to the end of this story, and I have loved every minute of the ride, except perhaps parts of this chapter, bc it made me sad to write. *sigh*
> 
> I appreciate you, dear readers, each and every one of you.


	26. Narcissa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alphabet thanks to Fandomfairytales, Kifiyathewriter, Iforgottocall and Frappubean. 
> 
> Y'all are the best!

Narcissa folded the letter and tucked it into her writing desk. While she had been surprised to receive an owl from her erstwhile cousin, Lord Black, it was the contents of the letter that had truly troubled her.

Could it be true that the Blacks had also succumbed to the malady that seemed to have encumbered so many other families in the Sacred Twenty-Eight?

Until recently, these were families whose bloodlines she was sure were beyond reproach. Instead, her conversation with her mother-in-law had left her uneasy and unsure of things that she had taken for granted for so long. She began making discrete inquiries, and those inquiries had turned up questions for a number families who upon closer inspection may not have been quite as diligent as the Blacks had been historically. It wasn’t so obvious, but there were markers once you started looking; and once you saw them, they couldn’t be unseen.

While the men’s lineage might be more reliable, it was the women who bore the children with whoever had impregnated them. There were always excuses when a child had a different hair color or other trait that flew in the face of their parentage. However, some things were sacrosanct. For example, Malfoys were always blond, just as Weasleys always sported red hair, and the Lestranges were known for being a touch unpredictable.

Cuckolding was a practice that was quietly done, but was not unknown. What did it mean then, if an entire line had been sired not by the title-holder, but by an unnamed, unknown stand-in? Or when a branch of a family that may have been less scrupulous in marriage (or siring) suddenly took over the estate, bringing with them their less-than-desirable dilution of the bloodlines.

Narcissa shuddered. The implications were far-reaching, indeed. She only had herself to thank and she only had herself to sit with this information. Her mother-in-law had been correct. Narcissa would protect the family’s legacy at all costs. It would not serve her to let there be any shadow on the Malfoy name. She had worked for too long and given up too much for it to be any other way.

And now, with this latest information, what did that mean for the Black family motto, Toujours Pur? Would there be an asterisk next to it? Or should it be modified to read Presque Toujours Pur? It was another blow when she was still trying to absorb the first.

She cursed her erstwhile cousin for bringing this information to her attention right now, when she was expecting guests for tea. She would have to tuck these thoughts away for later, when she had time to consider them more carefully. At least Lucius had been occupied elsewhere, otherwise he would have asked about the owl and she would have had to concoct some story to keep him in the dark.

Narcissa glanced out of the window at the fountain that stood in front of the house in the middle of the circular drive. She let the sight of the flowing water wash away her disquieted thoughts. The drive itself was a relic of times past when visitors had come to visit by carriage. While they were particular when it came to marriage, as far as she had been aware, the Malfoys had maintained relationships and acquaintances with noble born of both magical and muggle heritage for much of England’s history. After all, status was status.

It was well known that the Malfoys had been opponents of the Statute of Secrecy until it was adopted, after which they gave up their ties to the muggle world and instead became staunch advocates of enforcing the statute. As with most things, it had been a calculated risk. The Malfoys almost always aligned themselves with whichever side they believed had the best chance of emerging victorious, the recent misstep during the Unpleasantness notwithstanding. 

A quiet pop drew her from her reverie.

“Madam, your guests have arrived.”

As soon as their arrival was announced, Bellatrix burst into the drawing room. Her sister wasn’t one to stand for formalities.

“Cissy!”

Behind her trailed Celeste as well as both of the Parkinson women. Pansy had been invited to sit in the inner circle today in thanks for her efforts, but in the wake of the news she had just received, Narcissa was feeling anything but festive. It would seem that Miss Granger might find a way to stick around, irrespective of whether or not she was dating her son. If what Sirius said was true — and as much as there was no love lost between the two of them, she didn’t think he would lie about something like this — the girl’s claim to the main Black vaults may surpass even Draco’s, given she was a direct relative of the current titleholder, while Draco was several steps removed. Truthfully, there had never been an instance like this in her family. Relationships and marriage in the Black family always had been carefully orchestrated to avoid such a result. Yet here they were.

She turned back towards the fountain for one more moment before curving her lips into exactly the right kind of smile to greet her guests, one that was clear that while these were her friends and confidants, she was still the one holding all the cards.

She walked over to where the tea service sat waiting, clasping hands and air-kissing cheeks as the women joined her. For once, she was thankful that her sister had not arrived early; Bellatrix was not known for her discretion, even where the affairs of the family were concerned. Instead, whatever was on her sister’s mind tended to pop out of her mouth. Narcissa knew her sister was always thrilled to see what mischief she could make and thrived on chaos. She hoped Sirius had not seen fit to send Bellatrix a similar letter than the one hidden not too far away.

After inviting her guests to sit, Narcissa waved her fingers and cast a quick concealment charm to ensure the letter would remain out of sight, even should someone open her writing desk. One couldn’t be too careful.

“Bella, Celeste, how good to see you. Posy and dear Pansy, what a treat.” She clapped her hands together in recognition of Pansy’s efforts.

“Any news from Draco? Pansy said the girl was quite upset when she left.”

Posy was nothing if not predictable. She was only concerned with one thing: her daughter’s marriage prospects.

Narcissa decided she would give her a slice of the truth.

“When I saw him last, Draco was rather agitated. I wouldn’t be surprised if much has changed since the wedding.”

She would let her guests make of that what they wanted and rose to pour the tea.

“So what does the old lady think of all this? I’m surprised she hasn’t shut it all down by now.”

Of course, Bellatrix had chosen that moment to draw everyone’s attention to that particular fact, just when Narcissa had effectively shut down further conversation on the subject.

She handed Celeste a cup of tea and turned to face her sister.

“I wouldn’t really know, Bella; we don’t travel in the same circles.”

Her words were icy and she hoped her sister realized that this was not a subject she wanted to continue with. In any other group, the conversation would be over, but among her _friends_ , certain liberties were sometimes taken.

“But it is curious, isn’t it? First, she invites the girl to dinner, then she invites her to stay at the Manor,” Celeste wondered out loud. “It’s almost as if she doesn’t have a problem with the girl’s blood status.”

Narcissa tipped her head. She hadn’t thought about that. She had assumed that her mother-in-law had been just as against the match as she herself was.

She quickly dismissed the thought. The older woman had been shocked to learn that the girl had worn the Collier. That was evidence that she hadn’t known about it, and knowing Anne Malfoy as she did, she wasn’t surprised that she would be tolerant of Draco’s dalliance — it wasn’t an issue of marriage, after all, until Draco himself had broached the subject.

And then everything had gone completely wrong.

She took the next cup of tea and handed it to her sister, who took one look at the cup and handed it to Posy before standing to join her sister, speaking in low tones.

“You seem a little distracted today, Cissy. Are you all right?”

“Quite. What makes you say that?”

“Unlike Posy, I haven’t taken milk and sugar in my tea since I was a child.”

Narcissa stilled, realizing her mistake. It wasn’t like her to make mistakes ever, and certainly not a slip up that alluded to the fact that she was indeed distracted.

She waved it off. “It’s nothing. I was thinking about something Lucius said this morning.”

She handed her sister a cup that had been prepared properly.

Her sister nodded in response and moved to sit; although it was unclear whether she believed Narcissa or she was choosing to drop the subject. Her answer in itself had been a tell, as if she ever lingered over the things her husband had to say. Perhaps she had once, when she was a young bride or perhaps while they had been courting, but she hadn't been that girl in a very long time.

Narcissa internally cursed herself for the mix up and turned to her youngest guest, in an attempt to evade any further scrutiny.

“Pansy, dear, how do you take your tea?”

“Just a splash of milk, no sugar, thank you.”

It was exactly how Narcissa took hers, and she wondered whether the girl actually liked her tea that way, if she herself was that observant, or if her mother had suggested that it might curry favor with Narcissa for Pansy to have the same habit. Any one of the three was an option.

She kept her eyes on Pansy to see whether she could determine which it might be and the slight wince as she took a tentative sip let Narcissa know that was definitely not how Pansy preferred to take her tea. 

There was the inevitable wedding gossip, who had been wearing what, a sharing of any secrets that had been learned, and even an occasional comment about the Granger girl’s revised status as a half-blood. Sharing that tidbit with her friends, Narcissa now realised, had been a mistake. She couldn’t now deny that particular complication to them, and neither could she herself overlook the possible ramifications coming from the more recent revelation that she preferred to keep from them.

For her part, Pansy seemed all too willing to share the confidences of her peers, even going so far as to point out the failings of her friends and that, above anything else, was a mark against her from Narcissa’s perspective.

Even within the snake den, one needed to have confidants, alliances simply weren’t enough. In the company of the women assembled here, Narcissa was allowed a modicum of relaxation of her carefully constructed exterior.

Instead, it appeared that either Posy hadn’t taught her daughter this important lesson or Pansy hadn’t learned it. Pansy was not without gifts, but instead she chose to wield her influence like a blunt knife, using it to get the job done without recognizing the sometimes irreparable damage left in its wake. The girl was all about what it could get her in the near term without thinking through the long term implications. Narcissa had been right to be wary. If Pansy could so easily betray her friends, who would hold her loyalty?

Narcissa looked over at Posy and smiled sweetly, noticing a tightness around her friend’s eyes. She had no doubt that Pansy’s error would be corrected. However, the fact that she needed to be reminded of that lesson at this point? It confirmed once again that Pansy was not the right match for her son.

But who was? Was she to reconsider her stance on Miss Granger given this new information from Sirius? Was she willing to overlook the girl’s faults based on the fact that Sirius’s brother had a much more complicated story than any of them had known?

At least there weren’t any other bastard Blacks running around. The tapestry had confirmed that. And besides, if Sirius hadn’t been so quick to turn his back on their heritage, much of this could have been avoided. He would have seen that his brother hadn’t died when he was presumed to have; he would have seen there was a child.

But what would have been done differently? What was the role of a half-blood Black? Technically, she was the second, but Andromeda’s daughter didn’t count, for two reasons. First, as a daughter, her primary allegiance would be not to her mother’s house, but to her father’s — if there were such a thing, and there wasn’t. More importantly, Andromeda had been formally disowned by their parents long before her daughter’s birth. She knew Andromeda still claimed her Black heritage, moving through pureblood circles trying to pretend nothing had changed and her idiot cousin encouraged it; but you couldn’t change facts. The moment Andromeda had displeased her parents by running off with that boy, she had, for all intents and purposes, ceased to be their daughter.

None of that answered the question of what to do about Miss Granger, however. Narcissa couldn’t have guessed that her push on the girl’s parentage would have led to this point. It was a miscalculation on her part, and Narcissa wasn’t one to make such errors. She could not have foreseen such a turn and now she was left to wonder if the entire ordeal would have been better left alone. Regardless of how serious Draco had seemed, relationships often ran their course, but blood ties, particularly ones that were a stain on her own house? Those were vastly different.

Instead, she had assumed the girl to be the product of a less than ideal parentage; that she was trying to cover up the failings in her own roots by infiltrating a family with an impeccable bloodline. Both of which had turned out to not be true.

“ _Cissy_.” Her sister’s voice cut through her ill-timed wool gathering. She looked up from her tea to find Bellatrix standing at the window. “Come join me, I need to speak with you.”

Celeste, Pansy and Posy were still swapping wedding stories, either unaware of her lack of attention or choosing to ignore her lapse in manners. She excused herself, making her way to where her sister stood with her eyes narrowed suspiciously.

Her sisters had been her first friends, although the difference in age meant that she had been closer with Andromeda, rather than Bellatrix, at least until Andromeda had decided to take a different path.

“You’re distracted. Something’s happened,” the wiry-haired witch whispered.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re speaking of.”

“Fine. Lie to me if you must. You know I’ll figure it out.”

She had no doubt that her sister would eventually. Narcissa just needed to have enough time to decide what the right tack to take with this might be. She needed time to sit and think, rather than host this blasted tea party.

At that moment, an elf popped in. “Madam has another guest.”

The creature bowed low before popping away.

 _Another guest_? She certainly wasn’t expecting another guest, but the doors to the drawing room opened and there stood the very object of her reveries. Narcissa saw the newcomer’s eyes quickly sweep over each of the women in the room turn, narrowing a fraction when she saw Pansy sitting there, before coming to rest on her own.

Narcissa took a deep breath wondering how much the girl knew, whether she had put together the pieces that Narcissa herself had only just learned. She must have, otherwise, Narcissa wasn’t sure how Sirius had discovered it all in the first place.

She decided to start in the same spirit she took whenever she was tasked with something unpleasant, yet necessary. Not a hint of malice could be found in her voice, yet the saccharine nature of it should serve as its own warning.

“Hermione, dear. What a pleasant surprise. How are you?”

“Narcissa, please don’t insult me. You and I both know you aren’t at all interested in how I’m doing.”

The girl’s voice was laced with daggers, and there was no formality left between them. If the others were shocked by their use of each other’s first names, they didn’t react outwardly, but Narcissa was sure Hermione’s words were quite deliberate. This was not the shaking and unsure young witch at which Narcissa had lobbed accusations not too many days ago, armed only with her own righteousness.

In her place, this woman had come to speak her peace. If her feelings weren’t already a mix of disdain and concern, Narcissa might have had a modicum of respect for the way Hermione carried herself and had willingly, although perhaps foolishly, entered into her own domain.

She had started planning her next steps when Celeste spoke up and suddenly stood, starting to collect her things.

“Perhaps we should give you both some privacy.”

Hermione turned to face Celeste and her eyes narrowed.

“Oh, please. Like she’s not going to tell you everything I say the moment I leave. I won’t be long. You may as well stay and hear it directly from me.”

Internally, Narcissa stiffened. She was not interested in her own family’s secrets being spilled indiscriminately, particularly since Miss Granger seemed primed for chaos. But perhaps her visit was more of a personal nature? One could hope. She thought how she might bring the visit to an end before any unfortunate secrets could be spilled, but in a way that would allow her to carefully probe what the girl knew.

Narcissa heard Bella snort in amusement and glared at her while walking over to the tea cart to pour an additional cup of tea for her new guest, with her mask firmly in place.

“Well, you certainly have my attention, Hermione. Here, please sit; have a cup of tea.”

Hermione took the tea in her hand, raised it and then as if she thought better of it, set it aside.

“I’ll only be a moment. I wanted you to know that I’m heading back to the States. While you may find it hard to believe, I have no interest in your money. I fell in love with Draco long before I knew about any of this. But, I realise that sometimes loving someone means letting them go, so I am.”

The room was still.

“Not because of what any of you have done-” at this, Hermione turned to look at Posy and Pansy, “-or said. But, just as I have no interest in any of this-” She waved her hand around the room, “-I also would never want to come between Draco and his family."

"Although you’ve done a good enough job of that on your own, I think. So, I am removing myself from the picture and going back to my quiet, drama-free life away from all of you and all of this madness. I wish you could see yourselves, how unhappy this trumped up high society makes you. Life doesn’t have to be this way. Draco and his friends have learned from the mistakes of the past. Can you say the same?”

Hermione turned and started walking towards the door, but stopped with her hand on the knob. “And butterbur and Veritaserum, Narcissa? Really? Be glad Draco won’t hear about that.”

Hermione left the room, and Narcissa and her guests sat gobsmacked.

“The audacity of that girl!”

“Good riddance.”

Narcissa was both surprised and relieved. The audience had been short on its own, and the girl had said nothing about her parentage. The question of whether the girl had the same information Narcissa now did had been left unanswered. She suspected she didn’t because if she had known the nature of their connection, it would have been all to easy for her to to have thrown it back in Narcissa’s face, given how she had treated her.

In any event, it was a saving grace that she was leaving both England and Draco behind. Narcissa hopefully would not have to deal with her again and she could expect that her son would now fall in line. Of course, with sufficient groveling, all would be forgiven and they could go back to being the family they were meant to be, with those around them being none the wiser about the addition to the family tree, or so she hoped.

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Well, at least that’s over.”

Bella, however, was shaking softly. The four other women in the room turned to look at her, and she could no longer hold in her laugh.

“Let’s be honest, Cissy. She may only be a half-blood, but she’s got plenty of fire in her. Some might say, just as much as _you_.”


	27. Hermione

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All hail the alphabet - Fandomfairytales, iforgottocall and kifiyathewriter. Thanks my friends. <3

“Hermione! You’ve got company!”

Hearing Molly’s voice from downstairs, Hermione set down the pile of clothes she had been in the process of repacking. Her flight was tomorrow, so she had decided to sort through what she was taking back to the States with her and what she should leave for Ginny.

She didn’t much care or have a use for formal dresses that reminded her of one of the darkest times in her life; even the pretty lingerie would be too painful, at least initially. She’d have to tuck that into the bottom of her drawer at home.

She hadn’t even heard back from Sirius other than a short message thanking her for her note and explaining that he would be by to see her in a day or so. She was frustrated at the delay because she desperately wanted to find out whether what she had learned about her father bore any resemblance to his brother, but she knew he must be busy. Instead, she had taken that energy and shown up at Holland Park unexpectedly to see Narcissa. The more she had thought about it, the more she was unwilling to let the woman think that she was at all afraid of her.

Hermione was not leaving because of anything that Narcissa had said or done. Well… perhaps that wasn’t entirely true. Narcissa’s actions had been the punctuation on Hermione’s realization that she and Draco had vastly different priorities in their lives ahead of them; his apparently preordained. However, while she was letting Draco go so he could live the life he was born to, she was unwilling to let his mother think that she had got the better of her.

Given her departure from England was rapidly approaching, it would soon be a moot point anyway.

There were only a few people it could be, and most likely it was Sirius. She didn’t expect Draco would be back to see her, given how things had been left between them. She placed a hand over her heart and rubbed, hoping it would decrease the ache she felt there.

While breaking up with him was for the best, it was still painful. Hermione figured she would be putting the pieces of her heart back together for some time.

She headed downstairs hoping that answers lay ahead.

The house was rather quiet. Mrs. Weasley had made herself scarce; finding something that needed doing in another part of the house. Hermione appreciated the consideration. This conversation would be strange enough without worrying about others listening in.

She saw the back of Sirius’s head as he looked out the window onto the lawn beyond.

“Miss Granger,” he greeted without turning around.

“Lord Black.”

He turned towards her and she saw a twinkle in his eye. “I think by now, you should call me Sirius.”

“Then perhaps you should call me, Hermione.”

He nodded and gestured for her to sit, before joining her.

The room was quiet for a moment. She wasn’t sure how to begin. How did you go about asking someone whether their long lost brother was actually your father? The entire thing seemed to be more ludicrous now that she sat there in his presence.

Sirius looked amused at her inability to find words.

“After all, Hermione. It appears that we are family.”

Hermione’s mouth dropped open.“What? How?”

He smiled warmly in response.

“Draco came to see me yesterday. He had a few questions.”

Hermione frowned. Why would Draco have done that? She wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed with him or thankful he’d made sure Sirius had come by.

“I don’t understand. He told you what my mother said?”

Sirius shook his head. “Eventually, but only after I saw your face on the Black Family tapestry, which was a bit of a shock, as you can imagine.”

She was trying to process what he was saying, but his words raised even more questions. She took a deep breath.

“So, it’s true?”

Sirius nodded.

“My brother was your father, which makes you my niece.”

“But why did Draco-“

Sirius jumped in, not waiting for her to finish. “Why did he come to me? I thought that would be obvious. Why does anyone do anything for the people they love? He probably thought that by talking to me, he could make this easier for you, and he was right.”

“Don’t be cross with him, Hermione. Your note was rather vague. I think Draco wanted to make sure that I knew of its importance and had time to prepare.” Sirius reached over and placed a hand on hers.

“Prepare what?”

Sirius seemed surprised by her question. “My dear, this means you are a Black. As your father’s daughter, his vaults rightfully belong to you, not the estate; not to mention you are my closest heir as well. I’ve notified Gringotts of the details and everything is being formalized as we speak.”

Hermione frowned, “I don’t want any of that; I don’t want anything from here.”

Sirius looked confused for a moment, but recovered quickly.

“That doesn’t matter, you’re now the closest thing I have to family and a link that I never expected to have to my brother. Whether you want them or not the vaults are yours. Maybe in time you’ll find a use for them, and if not, then perhaps one of your heirs will at some point.”

Hermione’s head was swimming with the weight of the news. She now knew who her father was. He had a name and a family. And vaults?

“This is a lot to process. I’m glad to have found you but that doesn’t change that I don’t see myself coming back here again, at least not willingly.”

“My dear, there’s no rush, you have all the time in the world.”

“But I’m leaving England in the morning.”

“Then change your portkey,” he said as if it were easy.

She shook her head.

“I’m not taking a portkey, I’m flying home on a muggle airplane.”

Sirius raised an eyebrow, but Hermione was undeterred.

“I’ve already made my plans. It’s time for me to head home. Draco may not have mentioned it, but we’re not together any longer.”

From the look on Sirius’s face, she guessed that it wasn’t entirely news to him. She wondered what Draco may have said, but Sirius didn’t press her on the issue.

“I’m sorry to not have more time with you, Sirius. I would like to learn more about you and my father, but-“ she hesitated, “-to be honest, I’m not interested in the rest of it. I feel like I’ve had enough of British wizarding society to last me for a lifetime.”

“I understand,” Sirius nodded, knowingly, “and I see this as a beginning for us. There’s no reason we can’t stay in touch, if you’re amenable.”

Hermione nodded. She hadn’t realized how many questions she had about the father she hadn’t really thought about, until now that she was able to put a name to the role that had always been absent in her life. Father. It still seemed so odd. She hadn’t really dared to hope, although that had done little to stop her mind from wandering since talking with her mother.

“Have you spoken with Andromeda yet?” Sirius looked pensive.

Hermione wondered why that might be relevant. She knew Andromeda was also a Black, although she had pushed those thoughts out of her mind given their broader implications, not that it mattered now.

“No.” She didn’t know why that would be important at this point. “Given my flight is in the morning, it’s almost time for me to go home. Thank you for being so helpful, Sirius, for looking out for me during my time here. It makes the fact that you’re suddenly my uncle a little easier.”

“Well, no time like the present.”

Hermione gave him a questioning look. Was their visit over so soon? Sirius reached for her hand and cupped it.

“While you’re leaving tomorrow, today you’re still here. We can go see her right now.”

“But I’m not…” she began to protest, knowing it would fall on deaf ears. If there was one thing she already had learned about the man she now knew was her uncle, it was that he was rather matter-of-fact and in this instance, he was also right. There was nothing to do but mope around the Burrow, waiting for Ginny to take her to Heathrow, while Mrs. Weasley looked at her pityingly in the meantime. She wasn’t sure what Sirius meant to accomplish by going to see Andromeda, but she nodded in resignation.

“Let me freshen up and I’ll be ready to go.”

The two traveled by side-along Apparition, and once Hermione had recovered from their landing, Sirius knocked on the door of what appeared to be a rather unassuming house. It was larger than the Burrow, but unlike the other places she had visited so far, this home looked entirely normal, a large cottage rather than an elegant manor home or estate. Hermione wondered if it might be deceptively small. After all, appearances could be deceiving where magic was concerned. 

A casually dressed woman opened the door, her face surprised to see the pair of them.

“Sirius, Hermione, is everything okay?”

It was then that Hermione realized that Andromeda was standing right in front of her. Hermione was taken aback by the change in her appearance. Andromeda’s face was plain, she wasn’t wearing any make up. Her hair hung around her shoulders, instead of the carefully rolled chignon she had worn when Hermione saw her before. Instead of dress robes, she wore simple black pants and a jumper — like something Hermione would lounge in on the weekends.

Sirius spoke up. “Hello, Andromeda, I apologize for the interruption. To answer your question, in a manner yes, in another, no. By any chance, did you receive my letter?”

Andromeda nodded slowly.

“Ah, good. Hermione is heading back to the states tomorrow, but I thought that it would be helpful for her to come speak with you before she did. Might you have time for tea?”

Andromeda looked at her cousin with her eyebrows raised, but motioned for Hermione to enter. She took a step forward, but Sirius did not follow. Instead, he kissed her cheek and stepped away from the door.

“I will speak with you later. This is a conversation for you; it’s not one I need to be here for. And if you’re set on leaving tomorrow, there are still some things I need to take care of.”

Hermione furrowed her brow, not understanding, but stepped inside.

Andromeda turned to have a few more words with Sirius in hushed tones, and Hermione did her best to not listen in to their conversation; though she didn’t want to step too far into the house without her host. She took a look around. The interior looked to be as unassuming as the exterior. It was nicely decorated, but instead of antique furniture or stuffy portraits lining the walls, the room held a large comfy couch with a coffee table. Beyond that, she could see what appeared to be a farmhouse table and the kitchen beyond.

The home reminded Hermione of one of those houses that was featured on the cover of a style magazine, simply decorated and unlike any of the Wizarding homes she’d been in thus far.

Andromeda waltzed by her, having finished speaking with Sirius.

“Take your shoes off, dear. Just drop them by the door.”

Hermione did as she was asked, seeing her host’s feet were bare.

“Come, sit. Let me get some tea… unless you’d prefer something else? I get so tired of tea, particularly in the summer. Lemonade, maybe?”

Hermione nodded. Lemonade sounded lovely.

“Excellent. Make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right back.”

Andromeda returned with a tray holding a pitcher of lemonade, two glasses and an assortment of biscuits.

“I can never choose, so I brought a little bit of everything,” she laughed while she poured a glass and handed it to Hermione. “I’m glad to see you, but boy have you had quite a turbulent visit. You poor thing.”

Hermione took the proffered glass, and shook her head. “I’m sorry, I’m just a little confused.”

Andromeda smiled again. “What, by this?” She waved her hand around the room. “Or by this?” And then pointed out her casual attire.

“A bit. You seem so different from when I met you or saw you at the wedding.”

“Of course. I can imagine; let me help. This-" she tugged on the hem of her jumper, “-is me. That other woman you met gets trotted out at parties, but only when I have to. My husband is a muggle-born, and we’re quite close with his family, which means we live a different lifestyle than many witches or wizards, but it suits us.” Andromeda leaned in conspiratorially, “In fact, muggles do so many things better than magical folk, wouldn’t you say? No teles, no computers. I wouldn’t make it without cooking shows.”

Hermione’s eyes widened as she bit into a biscuit that was every bit as good as it looked. She hadn’t really met anyone in Britain who straddled between the two worlds much like she did at home; even Ginny, for all her acceptance of muggle things, she lived like a witch.

“Is that why you mentioned inviting us over for tea?”

Hermione couldn’t yet make sense of Andromeda. She was nice enough, but what was her interest in all this? If she thought of her experiences with others on this trip, it was hard to let her guard down. With the exception of the instant camaraderie she had found with Selina, with everyone else she had felt like she was walking a tightrope. She wondered when she would start feeling the sense that this interaction was not what she expected it to be. As comfortable as she was sitting here, there had to be more to it than this.

But Draco had said that this was the aunt that he liked, and Dora had seemed quite easy to get along with, also. Hermione took another sip of her lemonade and sighed softly. This was why it was time for her to head home, so she didn’t have to worry about these layers and layers of meaning and subterfuge.

For her part, Andromeda was quick on the uptake.

“You poor thing. I can’t imagine that your head isn’t spinning from everything right now. I invited you over for tea because you are important to my nephew, and I wanted to make you feel welcome. I know how harsh those society circles can be, and given my own experience, I hoped that I could provide a bit of balance.”

“Oh.” It was a nice thought. She would have welcomed this type of respite, knowing that not everyone looked and acted like Narcissa Malfoy all the time. She looked at her sister sitting sideways on the sofa with her feet tucked under her, looking completely comfortable in a way Narcissa probably never had been in her lifetime.

“But?” Andromeda led, hearing the hesitation in Hermione’s voice.

“Well, Draco and I aren’t together anymore. I broke up with him and I’m heading back to the States tomorrow.”

Andromeda gave Hermione a sad look.

“Do you love him?”

She asked the question in the present tense. It wasn’t _did_ she love him, as if Andromeda knew the heart didn’t work like that. Hermione nodded in the affirmative.

Andromeda gave her a look of understanding and reached out to pat her leg.

“Let me tell you a story. I am a daughter of the House of Black. I was the middle daughter of my parents and since my older sister could be a bit of a handful, I was determined to be everything my parents needed me to be.”

“While I was still in school, there was talk that I would be betrothed to Lucius Malfoy.”

Hermione gasped and Andromeda laughed.

“Yes, surprise. At one time, _I_ was supposed to be the next Lady Malfoy. My parents had been working to secure an alliance with the Malfoys for some time, but then something happened that was completely unexpected.”

“What?” Hermione asked, leaning forward and taking another biscuit. She was rapidly becoming ensconced in the story being told.

“I went and fell in love with someone else.” Andromeda said, as if that were the most natural thing in the world.

“We were in the same class at Hogwarts, and to my chagrin, in our fourth year, he insisted on studying near me in the library. Whatever table I picked, he would pick the next one over — not so close that it would raise trouble for either of us with our friends, but close enough that he could see what I was working on and could ask me a question every now and then. By the end of that year, we had grown to be friends. He was the first person I really considered to be a friend that was not another member of my house, and as I’m sure you’ve realized, those friendships are complicated, to say the least.”

Hermione nodded, thinking of the dynamic between the women who had been at the hen’s weekend and how every comment seemed to have carried many meanings.

“Over time, we started studying at the same table. Our work was hard enough fifth year, with end of term exams, no one seemed to notice, and we really got to know each other, what made the other tick, how to push each other buttons.“

“While my sisters teased me for spending time focused on my studies when neither O.W.L.s nor N.E.W.T.s were needed to be a pureblood bride, I saw the chance to do work I found interesting and also to spend time with Ted. By the time my father began to mention that he was working on a match for me with Lucius, I was already quite smitten with the boy whose background was so unlike my own. He would sit and tell me stories about the world that I felt had to be fantastical. And he pushed me to see outside of the path my parents had set for me.”

“I had grown up knowing Lucius. His sister and I were the same age, and we had spent enough time in each other’s company. It wasn’t entirely a surprise that our fathers would pair us off. But, as the betrothal began to be talked about more concretely, I found that I was far more conflicted than I realized. You see, Ted was everything Lucius was not.”

“Where Lucius was reserved, Ted made his interest plain, where Lucius was intent on taking every liberty he could with any willing witch, Ted’s attentiveness never wavered. I had ignored Ted because of my station, because of my house, until I couldn’t any longer, but he never pressed me. He let me know that he would wait while I made up my mind, but that if I chose him, he would be mine.”

Hermione couldn’t imagine what that must have been like, having one’s heart tugged in a different way than what one had always expected. Her thoughts drifted to Draco and what it must have been like for him as he forged a path different than he had known. She hadn’t known any of what he may have been going through when they’d met.

“While Lucius’s sister was one of my closest friends, I found I had no more interest in marrying him than I did in hunting for hippogriffs. I was prepared to do it, because I had been raised to be a dutiful daughter, but my heart wasn’t in it at all.”

“Where would it have gotten me? I would have had to give up the things that I enjoyed, the things I wanted to see and do. Becoming Lucius’s wife would have been a prison for me — a gilded cage, to be sure, but a cage nonetheless.”

“Ted knew. He saw through me, as I pushed him away, determined to be who I thought I should be. He didn’t pressure me for more than I could give him, because he knew what my family was like, what was expected of me, but he made it clear that I had a choice and what it would be like, if I chose him.”

“And if I had to do it all over again, I would choose Ted again every time. I know I made the right choice for me. Dora, our family, they mean the world to me. And I feel alive, instead of living in a carefully crafted box, hiding who I really am in favor of some carefully crafted image.”

“So, I get dressed up every now and then and move in that world, probably more for Dora than anything. She should have the connections that she needs to flourish in whichever world she wants. I need to remind people that there are still three Black daughters, not just two. Dora will get to make up her mind and decide who she’ll settle down with when she’s ready, but none of those people will say a word against her, half-blood or not, after all, she’s still half-Black.”

Ted humours me, and I don’t make him go to those things very often. It’s never comfortable for him to be around people who think less of him because of his blood status, regardless of how ridiculous that is. There are really only a few people that I look forward to seeing, and the rest of them can go to hell, as far as I’m concerned.”

Hermione’s eyebrows flew into her hairline. She hadn’t expected that. Andromeda was not holding back, and yet Hermione understood the sentiment, having had to experience the vitriol for herself.

The two witches sat looking at each other for a moment, and then Andromeda sighed and took a sip from her glass.

“So why tell you this story?”

Hermione nodded. The thought had crossed her mind. Whether she loved Draco or not wasn’t the issue.

“His mother can’t stand me.”

“Knowing my sister, that’s a point in your favor, as far as I’m concerned.”

“But I don’t think it’s fair to take Draco away from his birthright, away from his family. I don’t want him to choose me and then regret it.”

“Do you really think that’s the case? Draco began changing long before he met you, Hermione. Don’t you think he’s the one that should get to make the choice how he lives his life? He thinks you’re worth it.”

“He may say that now, but in a couple of years…”

Andromeda threw her hands up in the air.

“So, you sell yourself short? Have faith in him, Hermione, in the two of you. Don’t be so quick to give up something good because of other people who have no idea what love is or what it means to be happy! Otherwise, you’re meeting them at their level. You’re throwing away your own happiness for people who don’t even know how to accept your gifts and they don’t deserve them!”

Andromeda stopped suddenly, realizing she had raised her voice.

“I’m sorry. I realize we don’t know each other. It just pains me to think of you giving up. I want Draco to be happy. He deserves to be happy, and you make him happy.”

Hermione felt the familiar knot in her chest return. Had she acted too rashly? Breaking up with Draco had seemed like the right thing to do. It had made sense at the time, but Andromeda was right; she had made the decision for both of them, unwilling to prolong the inevitable.

Hermione had been so sure that it would be impossible for the two of them to be happy after everything that had happened; that Draco would always feel torn between her and who he was. But here was Andromeda, who both looked and acted like a normal person as opposed to the façade-wearing socialites. 

“Besides, now that you’re a Black-“

It was Hermione’s turn to be exasperated.

“Ugh. See, now that’s a whole other reason we shouldn’t be together.”

Andromeda laughed.

“How little you know about British pureblood society, dear.”

“I remember Sirius telling me nearly everyone was related, but that was other people, not me. I can’t wrap my head around it. That’s just not…”

Andromeda shrugged.

“Magical communities are small, no matter where you are. But, although you may be distantly related-“

“Distantly? What, we must be second cousins or something.”

“Like the current Queen of England and her husband?” Andromeda looked at her expectantly.

Hermione paused, “Wait, what?”

“You have to remember, Hermione, in many ways, purebloods take their cues from muggle royalty, as much as they like to think that they’re original. You happen to have a set of great-grandparents in common. Nothing more than that; and that’s not unusual at all. If you don’t want to be with Draco, don’t be with him, but I happen to believe he thinks the world of you, otherwise, he wouldn’t have brought you here in the first place.”

Hermione sighed; it was all so overwhelming.

“Is this why Sirius brought me here?”

“Well, I think he wanted you to see that you have options, that there are other paths.”

“And that there are other members of the Black family that are worth knowing?”

Andromeda smiled warmly. “Perhaps that, too.”

Hermione moved to stand. “I should get going, Ginny will wonder where I’ve gone.”

“Oh,” Andromeda looked disappointed, “we haven’t even had a chance to talk about your father.”

Hermione gave a small smile.

“Will you write to me? I need some time to wrap my head around everything, but I’d very much like to know more about him.”

Andromeda rose and took her hands in her own.

“The only thing that would prevent me is if you told me I couldn’t. Dora will be so sad she didn’t get a chance to see you, and after I tell her the news…“

Andromeda’s eyes became a little misty and Hermione wondered if it was because there was now another half-blood Black like her own daughter. Sirius had been right to bring her here. It had been helpful to talk to Andromeda as she made sense of everything, even if she wasn't quite sure what to think of it all.

“You’ll both have to come to Boston to visit.”

“We’ll make that happen.”

At the doorway, Andromeda embraced her in a hug that felt reminiscent of Mrs. Weasley’s.

“Goodbye, dear girl. I wish nothing but good things for you.”

“Thank you. You’ve given me a lot to think about.”


	28. Hermione

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My friends, this is it, the last chapter. Thanks for being on this ride with me. Many thanks to all those who have given their time to make this fic what it is. Fandomfairytales -- simply put, I couldn't have done it without you. Kifiyathewriter, FrappuBean, iforgottocall, ElleHart, your time is a gift that I so appreciate.
> 
> But most of all, to the readers who have followed along and trusted me with your hearts and minds, I offer my gratitude. 💗

Goodbyes were never easy, and this one was proving more challenging than she had expected. Although Hermione was ready to head home, she found herself thinking about Andromeda’s words all the more.

Had she acted too rashly?

Shortly after she arrived back at the Burrow, Sirius returned with a goblin in tow. It was steadily grumbling under his breath about favors and house calls and coercion. Sirius jangled his pocket and the sound of coins caused the murmurs to cease, although the dirty looks continued.

“Karnak, here, needs you to sign a few papers. I hope you don’t mind,” Sirius explained.

The truth was, she did mind.

“If this is about…”

“Hermione, I understand your objections. This has nothing to do with what you want or what I want, it’s a matter of inheritance law; Regulus’s vaults belong to you. So, you can choose to sign the documents now while you are here or you can wait to be called back to Britain to do the paperwork once the Ministry catches up with it. Your choice, but I thought this might be easier.”

Hermione looked at Sirius, searching for a sign that he was perhaps stretching the truth, trying to get her to commit to some grand familial gesture that she neither wanted nor needed. She saw none, however. Instead, Karnak began tapping his foot impatiently, holding out a self-inking quill for her to use.

“Can I at least read them first?” She asked, feeling rather harried. She did her best to skim the document, although she quickly realized that she couldn’t easily make out the tiny print.

Karnak ignored her question, pointing a long, bony finger to a signature line. “This document acknowledges paternity. Sign here.”

Hermione shrugged. She would have to trust that Sirius wouldn’t mislead her.

The goblin stiffened as soon as she lifted the quill.

“Your full name, Miss.”

“What?”

Hermione looked at the signature. It was the same as it always was.

“ _Your full name._ ” Karnak reiterated.

Hermione frowned before it dawned on her what he meant. She then touched the quill to the parchment again, adding the name _Black_ behind what had read _Hermione Granger_. That would take some getting used to, although she didn’t expect to have to use it, except for this. After all, tomorrow she planned to leave here and not look back, at least not to this part of things.

“And now, a drop of blood here.”

This would be the moment of truth, she supposed, at least for her, since she hadn’t seen the family tapestry that had been mentioned. If her blood showed her to truly be the daughter of Regulus Black, there would be no going back. She used her wand to make a small incision in her finger and let one drop drip onto the parchment. It shimmered for a moment and then disappeared, as if it was absorbed into the parchment itself.

She gasped and Karnak gave her a curious look. He had her repeat the process several more times, and when finished, he gathered the documents, stepped back, and looked atSirius expectantly.

Sirius excused himself and walked outside with the goblin to finish whatever business they had, while Hermione sat back, thinking about what it all meant.

“So, it’s true?”

Hermione started and looked up to see Ginny lounging in the doorway.

“Hey, Gin,” she greeted. “I guess? I’m officially a Black.”

Ginny came over and joined her on the sofa.

“How bizarre! How are you doing with it all?”

“Dunno. I’ve lived this long without knowing who my father was and I’ve never really dwelled on it. It’s still a little surreal.”

“I bet. Are you still insisting on leaving tomorrow or are you going to stay and spend some time learning about your father?”

From the look on Ginny’s face, Hermione knew that she didn’t agree with her decision to leave.

“It’s time, Gin. I’m ready. I plan to stay in touch with Andromeda and Sirius. They’ve both welcomed me with open arms. You know, my family has always been so tiny; it’s weird to think that it’s grown.”

“Well, your family is bigger than the people who you are related to, but…”

Ginny chuckled and Hermione looked at her curiously.

“I can only imagine Narcissa Malfoy finding out that you’re actually related!”

Hermione stiffened, thankful that her confrontation with Narcissa had taken place yesterday. She could only imagine how differently that might have gone if the truth of her paternity had been known. Although, she wasn’t sure if that would have made a difference to Narcissa, given how she had treated her own sister.

“And of course that means that Draco and I are…”

Hermione’s voice trailed off, reluctant to give voice to her other concern, no matter how normative Andromeda had said it was.

“Are like my mum and dad?” Ginny shrugged. “The Prewetts and the Weasleys are related, as I’m sure you can tell.”

She pointed to her own red hair, which was apparently a defining characteristic in both families.

“Name any two families in the Sacred Twenty-Eight, and I can probably tell you how they’re connected — and that’s just in the current timeframe, let alone centuries of intermarriage and whatnot. I mean, twenty eight isn’t a lot at all, which is why the Gaunts went mad and the Slughorns have about died out.

“Gin, that’s not really reassuring.”

“Well, I’m just trying to say, it’s nothing out of the ordinary, really.”

Hermione sighed, filing it away for later. At this point, it didn’t matter anyways.

“You know you can change your mind,” Ginny said quietly, correctly reading her expression.

“I was pretty clear with Draco when we last spoke, but as was pointed out to me earlier, maybe I wasn’t being fair to him.”

Ginny raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

“Okay, I’m sure I wasn’t. I know I made the decision to end things between us rather abruptly.” Hermione huffed. “I get it, but I was upset and I thought I was doing the right thing by him. And there’s just so much going on right now-“

Her friend offered her a sympathetic look. Ginny knew how hard it had all been.

“Are you sure you don’t want to sort out some of this before you go?”

Hermione shook her head.

“Honestly, it will be easier for me to clear my head if I’m back at home. Here, everywhere I turn, there’s something or someone else conspiring to make my life more difficult. I just can’t, Gin.”

Ginny leaned over and wrapped her arms around her. “I get it. I understand. All I want to do is make sure.”

Hermione released a shuddering breath and closed her eyes, allowing herself to melt into her friend’s arms for a moment. They weren’t Draco’s arms, but they felt comforting nonetheless.

Sirius walked back into the room and Hermione sat up again.

“Can we talk?”

Ginny gave Hermione a final squeeze and then headed up the stairs and out of sight.

Sirius reached for Hermione’s hand, helping her to stand.

“Molly was kind enough to invite me to stay for dinner, so I’m here for as long as you’ll have me. Now that the formalities are out of the way, I’ve only got one day to do this uncle-thing right, so my time is all yours.”

He led Hermione outside once again, this time to walk in the warmth of the late afternoon sun.

“I feel the need to apologize. If I had any idea that you were out there…”

His voice trailed off leaving unsaid how things might have been different in Hermione’s life.

“It’s not your fault. For the most part, I’ve had a good life. Sure, it would have been helpful to have known about the existence of magic as I was growing up, but we made it through. Besides, it’s not as if I would have been accepted by your family.”

Sirius stiffened.

“You would have been accepted by _me_ , because you are a part of _my family_. Regardless of what anyone else has to say, you are Regulus’s daughter and a Black.”

“To be honest, I’m still struggling to make sense of what that means and confused about what he was doing in California in the first place.”

He shook his head.

“It’s definitely a mystery on many levels, and my guess is only he may have known.”

“What do you think? Would he have accepted me?”

Sirius stopped walking and turned to face Hermione.

“I don’t know. Before yesterday, if you had told me that my brother had willingly had relations with a muggle, I would have thought it was preposterous. Yet, here we are.”

He paused to collect his thoughts then started walking again.

“You have to understand, my parents, and my mother in particular, were deep believers in the superiority of purebloods, that our magic was stronger and our claim to it was purer. They believed that it was the purview of those like us to decide who had such gifts. That’s how we were raised; that’s what we were taught. Our heritage made us special, better than others. I thought my brother believed that. I thought he had bought into it, but now, I’m not sure what to think. Maybe my words got through to him after all? Maybe he never really held the same beliefs as my parents and in my anger at them, I left him to carry the load of their expectations by himself? I don’t know what to think anymore.”

“All I have is a broken trail. He may have gone missing, but clearly he didn’t die when I thought he did. You’re proof of that. And then after? What became of him? I wish I knew. Some big brother I was, I didn’t even know he was out there. I wonder if he was struggling to make sense of things or was searching for something… But now, all I can do is be thankful for you. You’ve given me a piece of him that I didn’t even know to hope for.”

Hermione reached out to stop Sirius. She placed a hand on his arm.

“I’m sorry this is painful. It sounds like this has opened up some wounds for you. You have to believe me when I tell you that I didn’t intend for any of this to happen. Truly.”

Sirius looked puzzled.

“Of course you didn’t. None of us did, particularly Narcissa, who apparently opened this can of worms in the first place-” He gave a quiet chuckle before his expression turned serious again. “-None of this is anything you need to apologize for, Hermione. We should be apologizing to you.”

“Because all of a sudden I’m a Black?” she wondered, her face in a scowl.

“Absolutely not-” Sirius was emphatic in his retort. “-I think the apology was due long before that, because you’ve been patient and kind and accepting when others around you have been anything but. That’s why the apology is due. Whether you were a muggle-born or a half-blood, or whatever! It shouldn’t matter at all where common decency is concerned!”

“But now that you’re a Black, if anyone mistreats you, they’ll have to answer _to me_.”

At that moment, Mrs. Weasley called them for dinner. Sirius took a deep breath and led Hermione inside so they could join those their hosts for the evening meal. It was an odd affair. Even though there were only five of them and Hermione had very little appetite, it seemed that Mrs. Weasley only knew how to cook meals sized for her entire family or she was trying to impress Lord Black. For his part, however, Mr. Weasley engaged Sirius in conversation, telling tales of work at the Ministry.

Hermione was thankful to have this night among friends and with Sirius to close out her time in England on a brighter note. Between her new family dynamic and her talk with Andromeda, she had much to think through. While she was still missing Draco and second-guessing her decisions, she knew that, in time, she would feel like herself again.

It would be odd returning to New York without Draco. She planned to stop by his place to pick up the things she kept there before heading to California to see her mother, since they had much to discuss. For quite some time, Draco’s apartment had felt like their place, a home for both of them. Though she was mainly there on weekends, it had seemed almost like the start of something more permanent.

She sighed audibly and Ginny looked over at her, silently asking if she was all right. She gave her friend a small smile and rejoined the conversation around the table.

It was hard saying goodbye to Sirius. Even though she had only known him a short time, he had helped her so much, without even knowing who she was. She was comforted by that, that his interest in her had seemed genuine from their first meeting.

“Are you sure I can’t convince you to stay? It would be rather easy to arrange for a portkey. There’s so much we haven’t talked about yet.”

She shook her head.

“There will be time.”

Hermione leaned in and wrapped her arms around her uncle, and he hugged her in return.

“I’m so glad our paths crossed, dear Hermione. Look for my owl.”

“Or, you could just get a cell phone,” Hermione ventured.

Sirius tipped his head, pondering her words. He gave her one last smile and then Disapparated.

She stood there for a moment and took a deep breath. Everything didn’t have to be okay just yet. She only needed to remember to put one foot in front of the other, and turned to head inside.

o0o

The trouble with transatlantic muggle flights was that you had to get to the airport far in advance of your actual flight. The fact that it was an early morning flight just added insult to injury.

Ginny had done a fair bit of grumbling about the earliness of the hour before throwing her arms around her friend.

“Hermione Jean, it’s been way too long. If I can’t get you to come back here, then I’ll just have to come bother you. We can’t let it go so long again.”

Hermione nodded, her eyes filling with tears. What would she have done without Ginny through the mess this trip had become?

The two stood embracing each other until Ginny pulled back, wiping at her eyes.

“Thanks so much for everything, Gin.”

“You’ll be okay. I know you will.”

It sounded as if Ginny was trying to convince herself. She nodded and then stepped back.

“Go on, before I try to keep you here.”

Hermione chuckled and hopped in the long line of passengers waiting to check in, handing her passport to the ticket agent when she finally reached the front.

The agent looked down at her screen and then at Hermione’s passport once again.

“Oh, you’re in the wrong line. You’ve got a First Class ticket.”

Hermione frowned, “No, there must be some mistake, I definitely booked an Economy ticket.”

The agent shook her head.

“I’m sorry, miss. It says you’re in the First Class cabin. Now, if you’d kindly step to the left, one of my colleagues would be happy to help you.

“No, you must be mistaken. I’m not in First Class. I can show you my confirmation.”

“Miss, I’m not sure what to tell you. I can only go by what’s on my screen. It says your seat is in the First Class cabin, so if you _would_ , please step aside so I can assist the next person.”

Hermione huffed, but what more could she do? She didn’t mean to cause a scene. No one would understand anyways, given people were usually arguing to be upgraded rather than upset that they had been upgraded. She picked up her passport and moved to the appropriate counter.

At least it would be a more comfortable seat, she reasoned. Not that she needed it, but it had been nice to have the extra room to stretch out on their first flight, back before everything had got so complicated.

Boarding was easy. Once her bag was stowed and she was settled in her seat, she sat looking out the window at all of the different airplanes. Heathrow was such a busy airport; people came through here heading to destinations all over the world, only some stopped in England.

She took a deep breath and closed her eyes for a moment. If all had gone according to plan, she and Draco would have been to Amsterdam by now, and perhaps on their way to Brussels, as they moved about that part of the continent by train… She had been most excited for the chocolate and the frites.

She would find a way to visit again another time. There would be other opportunities to travel to Europe. Hermione hoped that down the road she would look back at this time and laugh at how comical everything had been — her brief foray into Wizarding Britain’s high society. She hoped that in time, she might not feel the hole in her heart where Draco had been.

She wondered if she might bump into him at some point but knew there was no real reason for their paths to cross. If she asked Ginny, perhaps she might be willing to send her a clipping or give her a tidbit of news, just so she’d know he was okay.

Hermione felt someone settle in the seat next to her. She opened her eyes to find a young businessman. He smiled at her and she returned the gesture before turning back to look out the window. She could be polite, but she hoped he didn’t want to chat. She didn’t think she was up for that.

During the flight to Britain, Draco had told her stories about Blaise and Theo and the antics they had got into at school. She realized now why the two were so important to him, why it had sounded like they were his anchor, and she understood why Draco never had much to say about his parents.

He’d grown beyond them, she realized. They were stuck in the past and living in a world of smoke and mirrors. No wonder Draco hadn’t opened up to her. He was probably still trying to make sense of it and what it all meant for him.

It didn’t excuse his behavior, but it did help explain it, not that any of that mattered now.

Instead, Hermione was heading home with a new definition of family, but without the person that mattered to her most. She wondered how Draco was doing and hoped he was taking better care of himself than he had been when she saw him at the Burrow.

Maybe they could be one of those rare couples that found their way to friendship after breaking up. It would take time for sure, but maybe down the road, she could reach out and ask after him. Maybe they could get to a place where they could sit and chat over coffee, without it feeling like her heart was breaking.

She wondered how long it might take him to move on and what it might be like to learn that he had, but that thought was too painful to dwell on.

“Heading home or leaving it?” her seatmate asked pleasantly.

He was a good looking man with a British accent. In another time and place, she might have been interested in chatting, perhaps even flirting with him, but his hair was the wrong color, his cheeks didn’t have the same angles, and his accent was off. Besides, he didn’t know a thing about potions or runes or any of the things that made her who she was.

“Heading home,” she replied, turning back to the window, hoping he would take the hint and leave her be.

She relaxed after she heard him busy himself with a newspaper. The flight attendant stopped to offer her something to drink, but she waved him away. The main cabin would be full before too long and then they would be taking off. Hermione took several deep breaths as she thought about it. As often as she flew on airplanes, the take off still bothered her, and she wouldn’t have Draco’s hand to hold this time.

It all was threatening to be too much for her. There were too many memories. She wished she had said yes to the drink, given it might have helped to calm her nerves. She took another deep breath and closed her eyes again, hoping she might be able to fall back asleep given the early hour. She tuned out the voices around her, until one in particular caught her attention; the person speaking to her seatmate in a quiet tone.

"Excuse me, you're in my seat."

Now, that sounded like the right accent, she thought sadly.

“Oh? Are you sure?”

“Most definitely.”

“Hmm, I must have been one off. Well, you can just take mine.”

“Thanks, but no, I’ll take this one.”

It seemed there might be a kerfuffle brewing in the aisle, and in First Class, no less, but Hermione knew that Brits were too polite for that. She listened to hear how it might be resolved.

“You want me to move?”

The man next to her made one last plea but there was no response; she then heard him start to gather his belongings with an affected sigh. It seemed rather particular, but who was she to question people’s seat preferences.

It was quiet again after her new seat mate got settled. Hermione wondered how long she might need to feign sleep to avoid another awkward conversation. She heard the safety announcement start to play and as she felt the plane push back from the gate, she exhaled forcefully, as more than one chapter in her life came to a close.

She gripped the armrest, anticipating the sudden acceleration and lift that would come once they reached the runway. It was her least favorite part of flying. She felt a hand cover hers and her eyes flew open, wondering who might be so bold. Had she traded a talkative seatmate for a lecherous one?

Hermione’s head whipped to the side with an insult ready on her tongue, but instead, she found a pair of grey eyes looking at her with concern.

 _Draco_.

She was confused. What was going on? What was he doing here?

“You don’t like this part,” he said simply, holding his hand in place. 

The tension left her body, replaced by something else. As she felt the plane begin to accelerate, she turned her hand over, laced her fingers with his, and closed her eyes once more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now, only the Epilogue remains.


	29. Epilogue

One year later

New York

Draco lay in bed drawing runes over his girlfriend’s- No, _his fiancée’s -_ hip in the early morning sunshine.

He watched the soft rise and fall of her chest, oblivious to the light touch of his fingers as he traced each rune.

The term at Ilvermorny was almost finished and the two of them had the whole summer ahead.

While he had completed his Potions mastery a month earlier, he was in no rush to find something new, at least not yet, not while the most important thing to him was right in front of him.

Instead, he had opted to continue with his own research and stay put here, in New York, where his own Potions lab allowed him to brew most anything he wanted.

For once, the road ahead was largely uncharted. Who knew where he might land?

A little birdie had told him that Hermione’s friend Claire, the Potions professor who had introduced them initially, was expecting her second child and wouldn’t be returning to her post next year. Perhaps Ilvermorny might need an eager young Potions Master to take her place for a while. With the biggest question in his life now answered, he could afford to wait and see what might happen with the rest.

He lazily traced a rune for protection over her hip, _eihwaz_.

“Mmm....”

He felt her stir next to him and decided to move his fingers, trailing them over the contours of Hermione’s stomach and up towards her breasts.

He began lazily drawing concentric circles around one of her nipples, each one smaller than the next. She arched her back and groaned as she pressed her delicious bottom against him to discover that he was very much awake.

It had taken a while for them to get back to this place, for Draco to convince Hermione that he was completely serious when he said he’d rather be done with it all than let her go, and for her to trust in his decision.

She had needed time to sort through everything, to speak with her mother and explain what she had learned, to sort through what it all meant for herself, individually and for them, collectively. Through it all, he had remained patient, at least on the outside. He knew that it would do no good for him to push her, and so he waited. For his heart to be whole again. For her.

Internally, however, it was a different story. Draco had been full of turmoil, panicking that his choices, not to mention his mother, had led them to this point. He hadn’t felt so lost, so unsure of himself, since his eyes had been opened to the difference between the truth of the world around him versus the one his mother had curated for him.

As a Malfoy, he had been raised to believe that the world was meant to bend to his will. Instead, he had waited for Hermione, as all of his hopes and dreams resided with her. His feelings hadn’t changed at all, and he suspected that hers remained intact; but he knew it had to make sense to her, and given everything that had happened, there was a lot she had needed to understand and come to terms with. 

There had been numerous phone calls and strings of texts; and after she returned from California, they shared a few tentative meals together, as she tested the waters between them.

It wasn’t enough, but just seeing her had been a balm. His heart soared to know that she wasn’t lost to him entirely. It was all he could do to hold himself back, to stop himself from reaching for her across the table. He knew that would be the wrong move, but the temptation lingered all the same.

How and when they moved forward had to be her decision. He had put her through enough already. At least now she knew everything, and if she came back to him, it would be with a thorough knowledge of who he was; so he waited.

Before the summer was over, Hermione had relented, or at least relaxed the walls she had constructed between them, but even then, she had insisted that there a long way to go before they would take another step.

Week by week, month by month, they slowly made progress. She had invited him to attend the Ilvermorny winter ball with her, and eventually, she started spending weekends in the city with him again when she could.

In the time between their visits, she had asked him questions about everything in far more depth than she had before: what it was like for him growing up, what it had taken for him to repudiate much of what he had been raised with, how he planned to manage his mother, and more recently, about where he saw himself in the future.

He didn’t have an answer for that last one, that part was still being written, but he had answered all the others as fully as he could, while doing his best to not Occlude away his emotions.

The first time she had kissed him again, it felt like the floodgates burst inside him; and the first time he’d slid inside her, he had cried out with the emotion of recovering something he’d feared might be lost forever.

This… Them. It felt so right; she was part of his very being and he would never, ever take her for granted.

Last night he had finally taken the step of asking her if she would do him the honor of becoming his wife.

The ring that he had slipped onto her finger, once she said yes, wasn’t a Malfoy family ring or a Black family ring. It was one he had picked out just for her; a conflict-free and cruelty-free sapphire, big enough that anyone seeing it would know she was off the market, but not so large that it would either offend her sensibilities or interfere with her work.

It was practical and meaningful and beautiful, like her.

And it had come with no magic of any kind. They had gone to a No-Maj jeweler to have it sized and everything — although he may have slipped a protective enchantment or two on it late one night.

In a few weeks, they would be heading back to England for a visit. Draco had been surprised when Hermione suggested the trip, certain she would never want to return, but she was adamant.

She had gone through the trouble of clearing her summer calendar once again, so they could visit their friends and this time, hopefully get to explore some of the continent.

Blaise and Daphne’s son would be having his naming ceremony, and as the child’s godfather, it was important he be there.

And Theo? Theo was getting married at long last, to the love of his life, Harry Potter.

Draco would have to hold his nose for that one, even if in jest. If his cousin saw something in the man, he’d have to give him a chance; nor could he overlook the kindness Potter had extended in taking him to the Burrow when he had seen him last.

At least this wedding wouldn’t have the same amount of drama surrounding it, other than the requisite Theo-related dramatics; it was to be a small ceremony, and Pansy would be nowhere in sight.

Besides, the Parkinsons were not nearly as highly regarded now, once the truth of their finances began to emerge. It had taken a healthy loan from the Malfoy vaults to save their estate.

He had heard that his mother had pressed Lucius to do so, given her friendship with the woman, perhaps not wanting someone in her inner circle to lose face, but the money was to be paid back in part from Pansy’s bride price (although it was something of a small miracle her father could even request one).

Last Draco had heard, she was engaged to a Bulgarian widower who still needed an heir. He knew she’d land on her feet, somehow, Pansy was always good at that. As long as she continued to leave them alone, that was his only concern.

Hermione had grown impatient with his gentle, absentminded ministrations and took matters into her own hands, turning towards him and pressing him to lie down while she swung her leg over him and sat up.

“Good morning.”

Her hair was wild, and as she leaned over and kissed him, it curtained them both.

He grinned. “Any morning I wake up with you is a good morning.”

She rocked against him, and Draco decided that he, too, only had so much patience this morning, and he’d rather show than tell her how much she meant to him. He deftly flipped them once again, then kissed his way down her body to remind Hermione of one of the side benefits of allowing him to stay in her life.

He set about showing his fiancée the depths of his love, bringing her pleasure first with his mouth before working his way back up and kissing her until they were both breathless. Then, when he could no longer wait, he lined himself up and surged inside her, relishing the feel of her against him until she wiggled, insistent that he begin to move. He was only too happy to oblige.

In the afterglow, Hermione lay her head on his chest, and he held her tightly, kissing the top of her head.

“You’re sure about this?” he questioned once their breathing had slowed.

Their last trip had been such a disaster. He was not interested in repeating the experience.

She didn’t answer his question, perhaps tired of reassuring him that this was the right thing to do.

Instead, she reached up to catch his lips before sliding out of bed.

“I need coffee.” She declared, grabbing his old Quidditch jersey and slipping it over her head. It had long ago become hers, not that he was complaining. The fact that she had kept it even while they were apart was one of the things that had kept him going.

“You know it says Malfoy on your back; I think I like that,” he teased.

She turned around and flashed him a smirk before sauntering out of the room; and Draco decided to grab a quick shower before joining her in the kitchen to start their day.

As they sat together at the table, Hermione returned to his question.

“Grand Mère is anxious to see us, Draco; you know she’s not getting any younger. Then there’s the baby, Theo’s wedding, and seeing Ginny. Let’s face it; there’s no way we’re getting out of this trip. Besides, Sirius wants to show me some of my father’s things. I know it was just a one night stand, but I am curious.”

He breathed easier. He was looking forward to all those things, even if he wasn’t looking forward to returning to where so much had gone wrong between them. However, he especially wanted Hermione to have a chance to learn as much about her father as she could. Andromeda and Sirius’s letters had helped, but he knew she wanted to know more, to look for those parts of him that she carried herself.

“I wish I had known Regulus. He sounds like he was quite a character.”

“Apparently, it runs in the family,” Hermione teased.

Even Narcissa was singing a different tune. Draco had ignored her letters for months and blocked her access to Floo call. He had been perfectly content to cut her out of his life completely, but Hermione had gently pushed him to hear his mother out and see what she had to say.

Hermione didn’t want any loose ends; no wild cards, no surprises, at least not ones that were avoidable.

Draco could respect that, although he would tolerate no further disrespect of Hermione, and so he tentatively opened the lines of communication with his parents.

It turned out that when faced with the option of losing her son and heir altogether, Narcissa had miraculously found a way to look past Hermione’s ‘unfortunate’ blood status, although he wasn’t sure whether it had been a sudden realization on her part or if it had taken months of getting the cold shoulder from him to reach that point. Honestly, he didn’t care. What mattered to him was that his mother understood Hermione’s part in his life. As far as he was concerned, they were a package deal, at least as long as she would have him.

Privately, Draco didn’t think it was due to any real change in heart; his mother was just trying to save face in the societal machinations in which she continued to involved herself.

“After all, she is part-Black… Not that anyone needs to know that,” she had commented, making clear that it was the latter.

Draco didn’t care, however, as long as she left the two of them alone. He had had enough of her interference in his life. It was his to live as he saw fit, and if she couldn’t understand, she’d quickly find her letters and Floo access blocked again.

For his part, his father seemed unfazed by any of it. Draco wondered whether Lucius even cared who he was marrying, as long as the deed was done.

In any event, Draco had just put the ring on Hermione’s finger, and he wasn’t going to rush her into a wedding or anything else anytime soon, though that didn’t mean he didn’t think about what may lie ahead. Maybe they would have children someday; an heir to carry on the Malfoy name, perhaps another to carry on the Black… unless Sirius suddenly changed his mind and turned up with an heir of his own.

There were no current plans for them to start a family — they hadn’t even talked about it, but he definitely was not opposed to all the practicing.

If and when they had them, he expected their children would be free to date outside of the interference of their parents and marry whomever they chose.

After all, if you didn’t have love, what else possibly mattered?

_Fin_


End file.
